


there lies the centre of my world

by andathousandyearsmore



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1., 2., 3., Academy Awards, Actor Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Actors, Confident Steve Rogers, Dancing Steve Rogers, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends, Getting Together, M/M, Oblivious Tony Stark, Post-Iron Man 3, actor Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-23 17:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andathousandyearsmore/pseuds/andathousandyearsmore
Summary: An assortment of mini-stories and quick, short fics of two of my favorite idiots. Each chapter is its own completed fic, complete with a full set of tags and warnings, as well as a brief (or not so brief, knowing me) summary.Story One:where’s my oscar (for pretending i don’t love you)(16k)Story Two:the last night you’ll get up on it(8k)Story Three: Bite Me In Silver





	1. where’s my oscar (for pretending i don’t love you)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll be taking prompts for these two idiots, so please feel free to ask right [here](https://andathousandyearsmore.tumblr.com/)! Also, if you spot the pattern (what pattern, em? what are you _even_ talking about?) and come tell me on said tumblr, I’ll write you two :).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has always been a fiercely guarded, private person. It just so happens that he is currently one of the most popular actors in the world, fresh off another Captain America movie. Everyone knows him thanks to the success of the Marvel Cinematic Universe and the success of the Nomad trilogy—that is, they know that Steve is decent at playing superheroes, heroes, and good guys in or out of straight rom-coms. 
> 
> Always the good guy. Always the straight guy. Always the bastion of sunshine and purity. Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Most of it is T for language, but please avoid the thirst tweets interview if you’re uncomfortable with sexual overtures and suggestion. And the actual movie scene itself.  
Warnings: No.  
Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, minor Maria Hill, minor Peggy Carter, mentions of Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson, cameo characters
> 
> Additional Tags: Actor Steve Rogers, Actor Tony Stark, Alternate Universe — Actor’s, Getting Together, Sassy Steve Rogers, Academy Awards, Golden Globes, Movies, Interviews, Thirst Tweets, Angst, Fluff, Sad Steve Rogers, Movie Premieres, Texting, Time Jumps, Non-Linear Narrative
> 
> OKAY SO MAYBE THIS IS ME SHAMELESSLY WRITING STEVE AND TONY AS THEIR REAL-LIFE ACTORS BUT LET ME BE VERY CLEAR THAT I SHIP STONY NOT RDJ AND CHRIS. :)

####  **the premiere **

As he looks out the window, he sees that they’ve already made it onto the red carpet. Now there are only a few minutes left to steel himself for the ongoing slaughter of reporters, press, and interviews he will undoubtedly have to face. Sometimes, the press is the most daunting thing he has to do for a movie, and after three long weeks of exclusively traveling and promoting Centre of The World, he can’t wait for it to be over. Thank god that it’s only been three. Steve wants go back home—at this point, if someone asks him which home, he honestly doesn’t care—slump into his couch, throw his feet up on the table, and watch all the television shows people keep telling him to watch.

Namely, Tony, who keeps recommending shows that Steve has no clue how he has time for. Tony’s been on the same circuit that Steve has for the last year with this movie; how the hell has he had time to have an actual life and watch things? Steve doesn’t get it at all, but Tony’s also the kind of human being that actually can manage to live with four hours of sleep and caffeine in their blood. Tony’s also the kind of human being to make this press circuit a little more tolerable and definitely more enjoyable. He still hasn’t managed to get tired, unlike Steve, who’s ready to throw everything into a neatly wrapped trash bin and sleep in his own bed. 

But it’s nothing surprising. Somehow, Tony has this way of making press and fame seem less stressful, like Steve’s anxiety quietens under Tony’s presence. Tony just makes Steve’s mind want to shut up and focus on him, his words, his flashing smile, his dazzling words, his expressive eyes that communicate _so_ much more than what his words do, his mannerisms that are so very distinct, and anything and everything else that’s uniquely Tony. He can walk into any room where Steve’s at and suddenly Steve will feel all the more better. It’s like magic, the way Tony makes Steve want to smile and never stop. 

Steve looks out the window again and sees that he has less than a minute before he has to get out and walk the carpet. A buzz from his phone has him looking down just as his chauffeur for the night rolls down the window and notifies him of the seconds he has left until he has to do just that.

**from Tony **

u thnk if i tell ppl that u & i wl pnt the twn red, theyll blieve me?

**from Tony**

hurry up im wtng 4 u steve y r u l8?

**from Tony**

gotta mke a gd ntrnc 

**from Steve**

I know you’re doing shorthand to annoy me. Also, you’re waiting for me _and_ texting? On the red carpet? People will talk. :|

**from Tony**

Aw, don’t give me that face. Look out the window. 😏

**from Steve **

Car stopped. I’m getting out. 

He puts his phone away just as the car does, in fact, stop. And because Luis’s cousin—his chauffeur for whenever Steve has these events—is a human being who lives for the dramatics just as much as Steve does sometimes, Steve doesn’t reach for his door and waits barely a second before Ricardo opens the door for him with a grand flourish. Steve steps out, and whatever screaming there had been before increases at least tenfold, and same with the camera flashes. He’s glad he has tinted sunglasses on. 

“Thank you,” he whispers to Ricardo, who nods and slips back in, driving off. Steve, now alone, looks around in the crowd for Tony, who said that he would be here, right out the window. Hopefully Tony hadn’t been lying or wasn’t confused. 

His eyes land on a man with an impeccably tailored eggplant-colored suit, polished black shoes and amaranthine-tinted glasses that only one person can pull off that well: Tony Stark. Involuntarily, Steve feels his lips curve up into a smile as Tony walks over to him. What a sight for sore eyes he is. And he looks... good. Too good. Steve wants to simultaneously thank and curse Tony’s mysterious tailor for creating works of art. Tony’s suits have always been made out of Steve’s wildest dreams, not that he’s about to let anyone know that. But if Steve’s eyes linger too long on how Tony’s suit perfectly hugs his body and someone will ever catch him, well, he just has an artistic appreciation of fine clothing. Right?

“Lost, Rogers? You’re wandering like a confused puppy,” Tony greets him with an exaggerated wink that everyone around them eats up with clamors of questions and declarations of love. The camera flashes increase even more in number, Steve vaguely realizes as he finds himself blinking a little too often at the light. 

“Never,” Steve denies. He looks into Tony’s careful eyes, those eyes that are quietly asking him if he wants to go somewhere else and finds courage he doesn’t have. He silently responds with a flick of his eyes that he’ll be okay. Tony’s expression grows daring, though it’s still calculated and careful. So Steve flashes a look to the crowd—on of those looks that Natasha always tells him makes him insanely hot _according to social media_—and asks, “Do I look lost?” 

A resounding number of answers reassure him that he doesn’t, so Steve glances back to Tony with a smirk, raising his eyebrows and shrugging. Tony rolls his eyes, but the careful look in his eyes is replaced with relief. Steve realizes he’s staring, and looks away. 

“You’re not denying the puppy part,” Tony retorts. Much louder, he asks, “What do you think? Is he more like a golden retriever or a lab?” 

Not only are there mixed results, people throw in other breeds of dogs, almost like they’ve thought about this before. Steve doesn’t know whether to be concerned or not, or to think too hard about the fact that this is a divisive question people have opinions on. It’s like a Buzzfeed quiz, the ones where you pick out the subjects you liked in high school and the ones who hated in college and they told you what dog you were. 

Something on his face must show it, again, because Tony’s eyes immediately flicker back to Steve with a reassuring smile and says something about pictures and autographs. This, Steve can do on reflex, and Tony knows it. So Steve and Tony laugh and take massive selfies, pulling faces and keeping wide smiles alternatively. Tony does a couple individual pictures and themed ones; Steve takes the pictures and secretly basks in the surprise that come from the fans who realize that he can actually take a decent picture no matter the quality of the phone. 

And then Steve does the same, except that Tony can’t take pictures for shit so it’s more selfie-type stuff. He gets to take a picture of him petting a dog though, which is very, very nice. Especially when he sees Tony recording him pet the dog. He is never leaving this down; the time he pet a Pomeranian on the red carpet for a solid ten minutes instead of doing anything else. It’s just... the Pomeranian is so cute and adorable. He misses Dodger a lot. 

“Hey Rogers, we gotta make it actually onto the carpet,” Tony says after he’s done snickering and making jokes to the fans about Steve’s love of dogs. “You know how much trouble we’ll be in if ‘Ria and Pep don’t see us in that carpet for our movie?” 

Steve turns away sadly from the adorable little dog, whose name is Pippa, but not before giving her one last head pat and pet. “You think I can adopt another dog?” Steve asks Tony as they walk away from the fans and onto the actual carpet for press interviews. 

“That fluff ball has already been adopted,” Tony laughs, leading them to a prime photography spot. Although he doesn’t say anything, Steve knows that Tony’s been waiting for him so that they could make the pictures together, especially since they couldn’t do the same thing last year. 

They acquiesce to many of the photogtapher’s whims that they can hear. They face left and face right and look cameras dead on; they smile or they don’t or they smirk or make poster-worthy faces; they have their arms around each other’s shoulders or they don’t. And then come the dreaded single shots. Photographers make Tony take the photo spot next to Steve so that they can take pictures of just each of them. It unnerves him just a little, and he keeps sneaking glances over to Tony to see how Tony fares. 

Tony fares a lot better than Steve does, or ever will. But it’s fine, because Tony catches Steve’s hopeless look and winks. Before he can turn pink, Steve looks away and flashes one last smile to the cameras. 

“Hey Rogers, you sure you aren’t a lost puppy?” he asks, too loudly. Steve has a feeling that Tony wants to get a phrase trending on Twitter about him being a lost puppy or something related to dogs at the red carpet. “We’re at the Centre premiere, just in case you haven’t realized.” 

Steve takes the out and walks over to Tony, an incredulous look creeping over his face. “No, I hadn’t noticed,” he comments, gesturing to the boards behind them that declare the movie they’re here for. Cameras still continue to go off, but someone shouts for them to keep on going. A brief look at his watch tells him that they’ve been photographed for nearly fifteen minutes straight. Horrible. 

The first interviewer catches them both by surprise, and smiles in victory for doing so. 

“I’m here tonight with none other than our leading men, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark! How’s it going for you?” she asks, her bright smile showing off all of her blinding white teeth. But the gleam in her eyes says more about her than anything in her eyes, Steve thinks, because she’s out here for something more than basic tabloid fodder. 

“Tonight?” Tony asks with a grin, “Well, tonight’s looking great so far. Even if it’s been half an hour and you’re our first interview.” 

“Really?” she asks, feigning surprise even though she’s one of the first camped out at the beginning to catch actors. “Surely pictures couldn’t have kept you that long.” 

Steve preemptively glares at Tony before Tony says anything. “Don’t you dare,” he warns, pointing a stern finger in the man’s way because he knows Tony too well to think Tony would keep his mouth shut if the alternative was teasing him. 

“Steve pet a dog for ten minutes,” Tony says, smiling innocently when Steve groans and pretends to walks away. 

The interviewer pretends to fawn over that. “Aww,” she cooes, “That’s too cute. It’s easy to forget you play a murderer in the move, Steve, especially since the role is like none other in your filmography.” 

Thank goodness she skims right over the dog and into the movie, something he can easily talk about. “Well,” he shrugs, “That’s what everyone told me, you know? I was actually discouraged from taking the role by a lot of people because it just wasn’t me or like me to even pretend to be someone like... my character, but Peggy was insistent. Truth be told, I really wanted a change of pace and it all lined up really well.” 

Tony makes a noise of dissent next to him, and the interviewer seizes upon that quickly, holding the mic underneath him and waiting expectantly. Tony takes the hint and says, “That’s not what happened,” he says, slinging an arm on top of Steve’s shoulder. “Rogers pretends like Peggy was the one that pushed the role, but I don’t think he had even an ounce of hesitation in him when he took the role. Listen, the actual things that Rogers has hesitation for are things where it will take the force of a small nation to try and shove him.” 

Steve shakes his head, gesturing vaguely to negate Tony’s point. “I mean—it wasn’t—I just—okay, it wasn’t like there was no hesitation. Obviously I knew that if I took it, the role would be, like you said, like none other in my filmography. But it was just—I liked it. The challenge.” 

She laughs, most likely about to change the topic to something related to Tony. “And what about you, Tony? All we know is that you’re playing an elusive pianist.” 

“That is true,” Tony simply says, keeping quiet for once. A moment of awkward silence passes, and Steve starts to snicker. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes on behalf of Tony, “We’re still not allowed to breathe a word about the movie. He’s just being a jerk about it, since he’s half in love with his character. A bit narcissistic if you ask me, but to each their own.” 

“Aw, babe, jealous?” Tony asks teasingly. But his expression sobers up pretty quickly. “Don’t answer that; I don’t want my heart crushed by your answer. But in all seriousness, I wish I could tell you how much fun it was playing the character. It took me a lot of convincing, I’ll admit that, but I don’t know why I hadn’t said yes sooner and saved Peggy, our Director, the trouble.” 

“As if you aren’t a pain in her arse ever other day,” Steve scoffs. 

“Ooh, arse,” Tony comments. “Did you learn that from Director Carter?” 

“No, but I learned all about your failure to film your first scene from her,” Steve says all too sweetly. “And to everyone who watches the movie, you’ll see what I mean.” He winks. It’s all a lie, because it’s still a little hard to breathe, but Tony makes it just a little lighter, just a little more honest. But it’s fine; Steve can act. 

####  **thirst tweet interview before the premiere **

“Aright Buzzfeed, let’s do this,” Steve says seriously, eyeing the bucket of thirst tweets with apprehension. Last time, Bucky had done it with Sam and they had been pretty normal. But Bucky and Sam had also done a segment with M’Baku, and those had been on a wilder side. The ones that Bruce received... well, people still teased him about it to this day and that was putting it very, very nicely. 

Tony smirks from beside him, all too eager to hear what people think of him. “Thirst tweets are not a mission to conquer,” he says, making grabby hands at the bucket. “Although if you really do want to conquer...” 

Steve jumps from his seat to grab the bucket of tweets before Tony can, and all but cradles it. “Really?” Steve asks, feeling the camera panning in on his expaserated face. “You couldn’t have at least done better? 

Tony pretends to sulk, but uses the tactic to steal a tweet from the bucket. He waves it in the air in triumph, too gleeful about it, Steve thinks. Why is he this eager to read them? Does he know something Steve doesn’t? 

“From capamericaandnomad. Man, I’d devour that Dorito body any day, are you kidding me, question mark, question mark, question mark, question mark,” Tony reads, a bright and childish smile breaking out onto his face. Steve tries to take the tweet away, but Tony fends him off with his right hand continues on reading. “I’d at least lick it top to bottom.” 

Steve blinks at that. “Wait a second,” he says in realization. “Is this all because Natasha made me take a photo with that Dorito? It’s my shoulder-waist ratio, the Dorito, right?”

Tony eyes him speculatively, dropping the tweet and using his fingers to frame the so-called Dorito shape on Steve. “I’m not sure that they’re talking about your triangle torso,” he finally says. In Steve’s silence—which occurs because how does one even respond to that—Tony takes advantage again and steals another tweet. 

“Raise your hand if you would let sexy lumberjack Steve Rogers raw you at any point of the day,” Tony reads, and then he flips the tweet over to show the second half of the tweet, a picture that has a room full of people with their hands raised. “Wait, is that the time when you decided to let your beard grow out? Or was it the time that you dyed everything brown, beard and hair?” 

Steve sighs. He knows the look that the person is talking about. He takes the tweet from Tony’s hands and the tweet on the table, crumples them, and throws them back in the bucket. “No,” he says after. “Do you remember when I was on the Nomad movie, there was the beginning when I hadn’t gone full brown yet? It was like, my normal blond on the top floofy bit, like the bangs, and then the roots looked brown in the light? And then the beard was brown and everyone questioned if I wasn’t a natural blond or something?” 

“Oh!” Tony says, “And the only reason people stopped talking about it was because Natasha posted that picture of you in that speedo. I think the only reason I remember that is because people started to ask why your chest had no hair whatsoever.” 

“Of course you only remember the speedo,” Steve huffs, rolling his eyes and swatting Tony’s hand from the bucket when Tony tries to reach the third tweet. “You’re shameless. But the only reason my chest was waxed—and I’m surprised that people paid close enough attention to differentiate between fine blond hair and no hair at all—was because of the shirtless scene for the Cap movie.” 

Tony pretends to fan himself with his hand. “Rogers, who doesn’t remember the speedo and the shirtless scene?” 

Steve very pointedly does not respond to that. He sticks his hand in the bucket and prays that he’ll get a tweet about Tony this time around. He pulls one out and immediately groans, placing it face down on the table. The entire thing is _rigged_; this the third one that’s about him. 

Tony snickers. “You have to read it. Them’s the rules.” 

“Please never say that again,” Steve says, flipping the tweet up so he can read it. “So, this one’s from sgrtiddies. Like, T-I-D-D-I-E-S. Anyway. Somebody needs to get Steve Rogers a bra because that man’s tiddies—there’s the word again—be bouncin’ more than a basketball.” 

Tony bursts into laughter, yanking the paper from Steve’s hands and reading it for himself, laughing again. “I love this! I don’t know who you are, but I love you for making Rogers read this with his own voice.” 

Steve is unimpressed. He’s already had the realization that tiddies mean his pecs, which people have told him at length about before, especially when drunk. Wishing he could say that this was the first time someone told him to get a sports bra, he crumpled the tweet from Tony’s hands and threw it in the bucket again. 

Tony is still laughing. “Come on, that one was pretty good.” 

Steve eyes the camera and deadpans, “If you think I can wear a sports bra underneath the tight shirts they give me, you’re wrong. Besides. Free the nipple.” He winks. Tony sits up a little straighter in his chair, his laughter fading into a smirk. 

“I’m doing the next one,” Tony states, and he pulls out one. “Whoa, all caps. Never have I ever screamed ‘daddy’ accidentally so loud than when I saw Steve Rogers with his fine ass beard and his body on that massive screen.” 

Steve couldn’t manage to hold in his smile for that one. “Thanks,” he says. Then he turns to Tony and adds, “This was also the Nomad movie look, the scene when I first walk in all angsty. I had a lot of people scream at me on Twitter for it.”

Tony huffs a laugh. “Trust me, I remember that one,” he smirks. “I found the meme of you versus your character, remember?” 

“Can one of these be about you?” Steve asks, pulling out a fifth one and finding that it was about him. On a suspicion, he dumps all of them out, and at quick glance, they all seem to be about him. He stares at the camera, unimpressed like he’s on the Office. “I’ve been set _up! Shame on everyone for avoiding Tony.”_

Tony laughs again, probably at Steve’s dumb face and outraged expression. He picks one off the table and reads it. “Oh this one’s like a fill-in-the-blanks. It goes blank me in-slash-on the blank Steve Rogers, all lower case.” 

“Kiss me on the cheek,” Steve deadpans. 

Tony stares at him with a gleam in his eye that spells trouble. “Which one?” Steve groans. 

####  **the post-premiere interview (a week after the premiere) **

“So how different was it, to go from playing Captain America and Nomad to play Liam Milner?” 

Steve smiles. If he had a dime for every time someone asked him this question, Steve would have just about the actual amount of money he earned doing the film itself. “It was very different, but I loved the change in pace. I think a lot of the movies I’ve been are very high-stakes kind of movies in the sense where there’s always action and heavy sequencing driving the movie, so in that sense it wasn’t drastically a change. But a lot of the others involved a lot less heavy emotion, if that makes any sense. Someone could watch the soliloquy scene twenty different times and walk away thinking something different of it each time. And shooting a scene like that wasn’t easy.” 

From the way that he sees delight on Everheart’s face, he realizes that he’s said something that perfectly wants to hear. Whatever that may be, whatever he’s accidentally transitioned himself into, he’ll just have to wait and see. 

“How long did it take, shooting that soliloquy?” she asks. “There is currently a running debate on several social media platforms that it isn’t the same one each and every time that the scene appears during the movie. I think I might have to agree, with how nuanced each instance feels when watching.”

Steve shakes his head, though this is the first he has heard of this strange theory. “God, shooting it _once_ perfectly was a nightmare in itself because both Peggy and I are perfectionists. To shoot it four, five different times would have been living hell, but that’s kind of what I was talking about. It does feel like they’re all five different takes, and honestly, when I watched part of the movie before the premiere, I thought that maybe they used a different take that maybe I had forgotten about because of how tired I was. But it really was just one, and as people see more of the story, suddenly the speech makes more sense, I think. And then you learn more and you realize that you’re wrong and—it was just incredible shooting it.” He can feel himself smiling like an idiot near the end, but his smile refuses to cooperate with him and control itself. 

“It’s pretty clear that you’ve loved the experience,” she says with an amused smile on her face, probably unused to enthuasitic idiots like himself gushing about their jobs like he is right now, even though he should be a seasoned professional. “What about the people you worked with? How did they kind of shape your time on the movie?” 

The smile doesn’t leave his face as he thinks about how to answer. If he says anything about Tony, she can and will seize upon it. But if he mentions nothing, she will also seize upon that. So he splits the difference and says, “I think I was the second actor to sign onto the movie, which meant I kind of spent some time before shooting began last year following up on the news of casting and script changes. And the thing about Peggy Carter is that she casts people who fit their roles and the people they work with almost perfectly, so I don’t think it was any surprise that all of us got on really well. And I kind of got to know everyone beforehand too, at least by meeting them once or twice, so, I loved them all.” 

Everheart laughs when he mentions Peggy’s casting. “Really? I’m glad you feel that way,” she saye, leading into a question Steve can tell will be a heavier one. “There have been quite a number of people—”

“Who think that Erik Lensherr shouldn’t have been my father in the movie?” Steve fills in for her, half-guilty for interrupting. But it’s kind of a pressure point for him, especially given the fact that Erik’s help had been innumerable to him. “I swear, if he didn’t belong in the movie, then neither did I. He fell into character perfectly on set, with such a level of professionalism I can only _aspire_ to have. I’ve also heard people disagree with Jennifer Walters as the detective who takes my character down. It’s funny, because the first time that she interrogated me in the movie, my character pretends to be cowed and in a state of fear, but I was just a little intimidated. Jen did study law, so.” He shrugs. 

Everheart nods, as if everyone before him had said the same thing. Also fair, considering Jen played into her character frighteningly well. But Everheart’s eyes turn shrewd, and she asks, “And what about your final castmate?” 

“Pardon?” Steve asks. 

She bores a hole right through him. “You’ve talked about everyone else this interview, besides one very noticeable exception.” 

Steve now knows what she means. “You mean Tony Stark.” 

####  **the wired autocomplete interview before the premiere **

“Hey everyone, I’m Steve Rogers and the idiot next to me is,” Steve says, waiting for Tony to finish the rest of the sentence like they had rehearsed. 

“Tony Stark,” Tony adds on with a charming, pearly white grin that has probably been the reason Tony has faint laugh lines that match up with the exact smile, “And this fool and I are doing the Wired Autocomplete Interview.” 

“Oh, thank god we got that right in one try,” Steve sighs after a second, looking relieved as hell. He’s sure that this will also make it into the one video, but it’s not like it’ll hurt him. After all, it’s just a brag that they got it right in one take, unlike Bucky and Sam, who had to try over and over again because of how uncooperative one was with the other. “Great!” 

“Do we get the cards now?” Tony asks, talking to the guy behind the camera who has been staring at Steve’s general abdominal area from the moment that Steve sat down in the chair. The woman standing next to the cameraman whips out the cards out of nowhere and hands one to Tony. 

Tony the flips it so that the cameras—and Steve—can see what’s on the card. 

“Is Steve Rogers,” Tony reads off, and sure enough there are six questions on the board that all start with the same thing. Tony pulls the first little sticker off and continues with, “Dead.” He bursts into laughter, almost dropping the card. 

“Um,” Steve says, subtly scooting away from Tony who is clutching his stomach with how hard he is laughing. “No, no I am not. No matter what I look like in the morning, I am not. Tony, stop that!” He pulls the card away from him and swats him with it, trying to get Tony to stop. 

He takes the card back from Steve’s hands and pulls of the next sticker, still snickering. “They had to lead with that, didn’t they. Alright, is Steve Rogers Captain America? Yes, he is. Everywhere. Every time. He’s Captain America right now. Actually. Ahem. Is Steve Rogers...”

“Please don’t ask if I’m alive,” Steve interjects with a pained expression on his face. 

“A virgin!” Tony crows gleefully, pulling the sticker off dramatically. He bites his lip and uses the card to cover his face as he starts laughing again at the expression on Steve’s face. 

“Um.” Steve looks directly into the camera. “Short answer, no.” 

“Is there a long answer, Steve?” Tony asks teasingly. “How do you have a long answer to that?” 

“I mean,” Steve responds, sending a _look_ in Tony’s direction, as if he should know better. “Not at all is a longer answer than no. Or like, hell no, not since year X that I am not specifying.” He clears his throat and smiles innocently. 

Tony raises an eyebrow at the camera. “That is the face of a man who secretly has a few stories he isn’t sharing. I’ll find them out, one of these days, don’t worry.” He pulls off the next sticker though, and reads, “Is Steve Rogers married?” 

Steve holds his hands up, showing the lack of a ring around any of them. “Actually,” he dryly says, “I’ve been married to Peggy Carter since we were eighteen and you just can’t see our rings because they’re clear. Our anniversary was last week. It was our tenth anniversary.” 

“You met Peggy when you were twenty,” Tony says, unimpressed. “And you’re not twenty-eight. Neither is she.” 

“It’s rude to share my age like that,” Steve quips back. “Jeez Tony, next thing you know, you’ll be telling the world what my favorite color is!” He finds it extremely hard to keep a straight face. 

“If the next one doesn’t ask how old Steve is, I’ll be thoroughly disappointed,” Tony says, crossing his fingers as he pulls off the sticker with his other hand. “Is Steve Rogers... Mr. Rogers?” He turns to Steve, raising his eyebrows in question. 

“It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor. Would you be mine; could you be mine?” Steve sings on cue, doing his best imitation of Fred Rogers that he possibly can. He’s actually really proud of it because he has spent years trying to imitate the opening theme. Reverting back to his normal voice, he sighs and says, “No. No trace of relation either. I’ve looked.” 

He waits for Tony to pull back the last sticker, but Tony is still staring at him with his eyes wide, jaw dropped. He looks stunned to his core. Steve smiles awkwardly, waiting for Tony still to snap out of it. 

“What the hell was that?” Tony asks, awe in his voice. “Oh my god. Do that again. Actually, wait, don’t, I’m going to start tearing up, Rogers. Can we end the interview right here?” 

Steve reaches over and pulls the last sticker himself. Tony squawks in protest. “Is Steve Rogers a Christian?” He tries hard not to laugh, but fails. The way it’s phrased makes him unable to control his laughter. 

“I—” he says, trying to justify his laughter in order not to alienate anyone. 

“Yes?” Tony asks, eyeing Steve like Steve has lost his last brain cell. 

“It’s just—the question makes it seem like something inherently scandalous and taboo. Is Steve Rogers... a Christian?” Steve does his best imitation of someone clutching their pearls in horror at the end of the question. “Someone’s making it out to seem like I’m a cannibal or something. And by the way, is Steve Rogers a cannibal? No. Dear god, no.” 

“You didn’t answer the question,” Tony says after a second. 

“Oh,” Steve says, frowning because he wanted to avoid the question. “I mean. I was raised Catholic. Does that count?” 

“Close enough,” Tony says, shrugging. “I’m been accused of heresy more times than I can remember, so. Good for you.” He tosses the card, and someone hands Steve the next card, which he takes with pleasure. 

“Ooh, _Is Tony Stark_ questions,” Steve says, making a suggestive face at the cameras. He peels back the first one and reads, “Is Tony Stark adopted?” 

“No,” Tony says very slowly, staring at the question very carefully. “I am not. Why do you ask, random Google user?” 

“Is Tony Stark bisexual?” Steve asks, pulling off the next sticker before Tony has a crisis at this press junket. “Wait, no, he is pansexual because he likes atttactive people all the same and is completely non-discriminatory. Also because he has more options to sleep around and charm.” He winks at Tony after he says that.

Tony gasps. “Steven Grant Rogers, are you accusing me of being sexually promiscuous?” 

Steve smiles innocently and starts to pull off the next one, which is being particularly stubborn. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m telling it like it is.” Tony gasps again. 

“I’m hurt,” Tony says, “I’m so incredibly hurt. See if I ever wingman you again, Mr. Straight-Laced. I’ll just laugh at your failure.” 

Steve looks at the camera again and smirks confidently. “Nope,” he says, popping the p. “I think I’ll be okay without your help. You tend to try and ‘help’ by going around and telling everyone that I’m woefully inexperienced. Or that I just need a hand and I most certainly do not need a hand.” 

“Steve Rogers, was that a dirty joke?” Tony asks. 

“Only if you want it to be,” Steve says, finally peeling off the stubborn sticker. “Okay. Is Tony Stark... Italian?” 

“Ovviamente,” Tony says with a wink. “You think the name Antonio came from Russia? Even if it is Anthony, it’s still Italian.” 

“Stark is German,” Steve points out. “Means strong. Don’t ask me how I know that. Someone, somewhere once told me. Anyway. Next one. Is Tony Stark done being Iron Man?” 

“Oh, look at that,” Tony says with a smile, maintaining direct eye contact as he reaches over and pulls the next one. “Is Tony Stark the guy from Sherlock Holmes?” 

“That was Stephen Strange,” Steve corrects. “I loved watching that show so much. You weren’t in it. Unless they’re talking about the American version, Elementary. Were you somewhere in the six-something seasons? Or wait, there were movies at some point. With... with the guy who plays Jude Law. And...” 

“Me,” Tony interrupts with a huff. “The movies you’re talking about; I was Sherlock in those.” 

“The first one came out in, like, 2008. That was eleven years ago. I was still dancing around the drinking age then,” Steve says with a frown. Well, he technically could have gone to the movie drunk and be fully within legal limits, but it was fun to tease Tony about his age sometimes. 

“Oh my god,” Tony groans. “I feel old.” 

“You're what, five years older?” Steve asks, even though he knows the exact number of years, months, and days thanks to a very boring afternoon they had spent together. “Six. Five? Six. Five and a half. Five and three quarters. Five and a quarter? Six and a quarter? It’s not four. Is it _seven_? I don’t think it’s seven. You’re... April, and I’m—” he coughs the month loudly, “—which means that closer to a few and a half years closer. 

“You’re really bad at math,” is the only thing Tony says. “Toss the card.” 

####  **the public interview the week after the premiere**

Steve has been dreading this question since the day he read the script. And since the day that Tony joined Centre of the World, he has been dreading the question even more, because they’re no easy way to play any of it off or answer in a way that won’t have people put their tin hats up. Which means that he has spent nearly a year coming up with the perfect response, trying to get ahead of the shock factor that someone is undoubtedly looking for. 

So when the question comes now, in form of an audience member with a gleam in her eyes, Steve doesn’t blush. Or give away anything. Steve has had an answer prepared for a long time, and he isn’t about to ruin it by stammering.

“It was the stuff out of my deepest fantasies,” he says with a smirk, pretending to struggle with keeping a straight face at Tony’s expression. “Kissing Tony Stark was like a thing off the bucket list, you know, right below punching Hitler or going to the moon. He’s such a _good_ kisser, so passionate, and it was like I melted right then and there in his arms, hoping that time would just slow down so I could—no! I’m kidding. It was kind of there.” 

“Are you calling me a _bad_ kisser?” Tony asks. Steve very pointedly doesn’t look at Tony, because he doesn’t think he’ll stop himself from caving and saying something dumb and sappy. “Kind of _there_.” Tony tries to imitate Steve as he says that.

“No, but, trying to kiss your best friend like you want to crawl into his pants while there are twenty people watching is unsettling. Especially when you’re being judged on if the scene is okay. Spoiler alert, if the scene needs to be better, we were told what to do better,” Steve says, wincing. He’s never forgetting someone yelling at him to all but dry-hump Tony. It may have only happened once, and the context may have been that they told him to dry-hump Tony like all the other scenes, but still. Awful.

He needs to be able to lie and pull off the lie with a straight face. 

He hears Tony huff a laugh next to him, and still doesn’t look. “It was also tricky,” Tony says, his voice too strange. It’s... neutral? Fake? Chilling? “He’s not exactly the smallest person in the world, which meant pushing him up against that wall in one of the scenes hurt my arms. We had a lot of... wall scenes.” 

“Was it weird, kissing your best friend?” the same woman asks, laughing just like everyone else in the crowd, “Either of you.” 

“I think it’s a little more weird kissing an actor who you met pretty recently,” Tony slowly says, since Steve says absolutely nothing trying to come up with a different answer that is appropriate, “Because you have to establish some kind of chemistry or people will see right through that. And, you know, Steve and I have won awards for that, so.” He laughs. 

“It wasn’t weird,” Steve says, even though the first one had been weird because he had wished it was real and not for a movie in front of people, “It’s your best friend and it’s just for a movie. We’ve done weirder things for each other or a role.”

”Uh, yeah,” Tony says, still sounding strange. “What he said.” 

####  **the first kissing scene, take one **

“Just _shut_ up,” Tony—as Dominic—growled at him, rising up from the piano bench with a still grace that belied the feral nature of his voice and eyes. His back was still to Steve—as Liam—but Steve could imagine Tony’s face saying that to him, in real life, and he immediately tride to shut down those thoughts. Steve failed, and instead involuntarily shuddered, closing his eyes sensually as he did so. When he opened them, Steve started to remember every single time in his life when he was drunk on lust so that he could properly be eye-fucking Tony for the sake of the scene. This scene would be one of the only times Steve could ever act on any repressed feeling he had for Tony, and selfish and creepy or not, Steve at least wanted it out his system. Not that it would work, but he could try. With the impression people had of him, they would just say he was a committed actor and no one would have to know the difference. 

He was so fucked. This was a movie, a job, a role, a professional setting and here he was breaking every single acting rule of his life. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was beyond method acting for him to claim. Fuck. Why did he take the role again? Fuck. 

Tony walked around the bench, movements still imbued with both Tony’s natural elegance and a controlled madness that set Steve on edge. “What does it take you to _shut_ _up_ for once in your life?” Expressive brown eyes locked in on his, boring a hole right though Steve with how fierce they were. Fierce and angry, two qualities that never failed to make Tony about a hundred times hotter than he already was in Steve’s mind. Steve was going to melt into the floor, acting and scene be damned. 

It was a miracle he remembered his line, but to buy himself some time, Steve swallowed hard and mustered up a cocky smirk he knew didn’t belong to him. “As if you don’t know,” he responded, and sue him if his voice didn’t waver with how badly he wanted to forget all his lines and kiss Tony right there, and feel Tony everywhere. _Steven Grant Rogers, get it together! This is for a movie! Stay professional! You idiot! _

Tony sucked in a breath, his darkened eyes looking up and down Steve in a way that made Steve shudder again, and blew it out angrily. He smiled bitterly. “Last time was a one-off,” he firmly said, though the way that Tony was eyeing Steve said anything but, per the script. Only because of the script. It was ironic, that their characters couldn’t stay away from each other for too long without chance or hunger pulling them back together, no matter how much they tried to deny themselves. In real life, it was anything but, since the feeling Steve had for Tony, the burning hot torch he carried that wasn’t mutual. “Just a one-off. We’re done.” 

“You’re a damned liar, _Galan_,” Steve said in challenge, rolling Tony’s character’s last name over with the tip of his tongue in a way that he couldn’t even attempt to with Tony’s actual name, “But you were good at it, at lying, once upon a time.” He let his eyes fall down to Tony’s lips, one of the written blocking steps in the actual script since writers just loved to torture him, and said, “One of the best. I miss you.” He flickered his eyes back up to Tony’s again, teasing. 

Tony blew out another breath, but it was shaky, just as Dominic was losing his controlled composure. “No you don’t.” This was it; this was the point that turned Dominic Galan down a different path. Steve steeled himself. “If you _missed_ me—”

“I miss your name on my lips,” Steve amended with a gracious tilt of his head, still looking Tony in the eye as he delivered the lines that snapped Tony’s character and got Steve’s character what he wanted. Right now, he was a man who was betting his very soul for the gamble of his time, exposing trust and utter weakness that a murderer wouldn’t show to anyone else. “I miss your hands in my hair. I miss losing control to the way you called me yours, the way you made me scream and _beg_ like I can’t for anyone else. Does that not make me miss _you_?” 

Steve didn’t even realize he was shaking while his voice broke, as if stricken by the words that his character hadn’t meant to say. Vaguely, he was thinking of what Liam would do, but it also was frightening to realize that Liam was doing what Steve would do if he was ever in this situation. He didn’t have to act any of it out, not when he knew deep down that if it were really him and Tony having this conversation, he would try every trick in the book to get Tony back. Just not with really cheesy words. 

What a shame he never had (or has) Tony in the first place. 

Silence reigned after Steve’s last four words. After what Steve deemed an appropriate time of tension-filled silence, he locked his jaw and looked down, as his character seemingly took the rejection. With an unhappy smile that fought its way onto his face, he took a step back. He was still shaking, and Steve recalled something he had learned years ago that it was much easier to internalize an emotion to induce shaking rather than fake it altogether. People were savvy, and could spot false emotions a mile away. 

It was hard to fake the surprise on his face when Tony took a step closer to Steve when Steve knew that it was supposed to happen, but he wasn’t an actor for nothing. Even if this entire scene was conflicting for him and he was compromised, he couldn’t just drop the ball.

Steve jerked his head up and looked back at Tony, at the false emotions warring across the other actor’s face. Then, like a switch had been flipped, Tony took another step forwards, then two, and three, and four. Steve let the moment of realization settle over his face—Liam was realizing he had a chance yet still—and fell into a natural rhythm of moving backwards one step, then two, and three, and four. 

Since he took deliberately smaller steps than Tony, Tony easily caught up to him. He pushed Steve up against the wall that Steve had nearly backed himself into, and Steve’s back hit it with a loud noise that nearly made Tony’s hands drop from Steve’s body in apology and surprise. This was nothing new for Steve (minus the Tony part of the equation) so he didn’t pay attention to the slight pain flaring from his back. 

Tony stepped right into his space and kissed him. Steve reacted within a split-second and closed his eyes, tipping his head back as he let Tony take and _take_ from him, from Liam and the scene and whatever else. He pretended for a moment that he wasn’t kissing his best friend, but rather kissing a nameless, faceless person from a crowd. He didn’t want to think about the way that both of them groaned into each other’s mouths, pushing and prodding each other’s mouth in a one-sided fight for dominance. Tony’s arms were still on either side of him, trapping Steve in even though physically Steve’s taller and generally larger. 

“Tell me,” Steve said, wrapping his arms around Tony’s back from habit (but again, not with Tony). “I want—” 

He was cut off by Tony experimentally rolling his hips against Steve’s, and Steve let out a moan that he would have been embarrassed by in any other case, had Tony not covered it by kissing him again. He knew that his back was starting to arch a little, so that his body was pressing more and more into Tony’s providing friction for a problem he was avoiding until now. 

“Mine,” Tony growled, but not before nipping Steve’s lip again, in a move that would have drawn blood if it hadn’t been faked by faking the camera angles. “Unless you ever leave again.” 

“Oh _god_,” Steve said, semi-faking a wave of pleasure while trying to stop his own anything. “Yes. Yes, yes, I _won’t_. Tell me, _Galan_.” The break in his voice came from him shamelessly moaning again, now that he didn’t have lines left in this scene to try extra hard to remember in the midst of remembering that this was not real. But damn, did he want it to be. 

“Shut _up_,” Tony hissed, before kissing him again. For the next thirty seconds, they worked out a rhythm of ‘faking it’ more until Peggy called it. 

####  **the viral interview (the first post-premiere interview)**

“So while the two of you, and the entire cast and crew of Centre of the World, were on your week of silence,” Kat Farrell, the late night talk show host says, “I’m guessing you missed generally every single word that was said about the movie?” 

Steve and Tony nod, though Steve shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah,” he says, “With the exception of the two of us, everyone else is breaking their blackout silence tomorrow. The two of us can’t keep our mouths shut though, so we’re tonight.” He glances at Tony and catches the shameless grin on Tony’s face. 

“So why me, why tonight?” Kat asks, unaware that she had opened a can of worms that Steve had tried so hard to close just hours before with Tony. He hides his wince as best he can. 

But Tony looks like Christmas came early with the chance to tease Steve. “He’s been on the show before, and I haven’t, as you know. He liked it well enough last time that he actually now religiously watches it, and all but begged me to come here.” 

Kat looks like Christmas came early for her too, even more so than last time he was in her show and he had called her by her nickname for the first time. “Really?” she asks, quickly schooling her fave into one of true professionalism. “I’m flattered. But don’t think I’m going easy on you tonight, because this is the first time you guys have showed your faces since the premiere and everyone has questions.” 

“I bet they do,” Steve mumbles, trying to will down his blush at Tony’s words. “I bet.” 

LATER IN THE INTERVIEW

“Okay, okay,” she says after they’re done playing her game. They’ve just lost, since Tony somehow lost his graceful form and mannerisms within the timeframe of this game. Steve’s kind of miffed; he had thought that they were going to win easily. “I think we’ve skirted around the biggest question and shocking plot point that everyone has been talking about, the very same one that has launched you two and the movie into the spotlight.” 

“You mean Steve’s ability to rock the bloody murderer look? I think we covered that?” Tony jokes, because it’s true. They’ve spent the last hour talking about everything from their wide repertoire of roles and how Liam and Dominic were so far out of them, they’ve talked about their fellow castmates and how amazing it was to work with each and everyone one of them, they’ve talked about set and shooting, they’ve also talked about how chilling the movie itself was. But there’s one glaring thing about the movie that they haven’t talked about. 

Kat knows it, Steve and Tony know it, and so does the audience for how they boo and make faces. 

“I’m talking about the third of the movie that involved the two of you,” she says. The audience cheers loudly with approval and excitement. When they’ve quietened, she adds, “The movie wasn’t marketed as a love story.” 

“And it’s not,” Steve says, plain and simple. He knows where she’s going to rightfully take the line of questioning, and he wants to prolong it as much as possible. “We’ve always said that it’s a genre-less story of a man. The movie toes all kind of lines, and honestly, the one distinction it has is that it’s rated R.” Tony quietly laughs from next to him. 

“Yet the element of the romance shapes the entire movie,” Kat counters, and Steve realizes that she doesn’t let people forget easily that she’s a journalist at their weakest moments. She’s cunning, not just a fan. “In fact, critics and fans alike say that the romance between Liam Milner and Dominic Galan was one of the best romances on screen that they’ve watched on screen in a long time.”

Steve founders for a second, but in that same second, Tony picks up for him. “Do people really say that? I’ve always viewed the relationship as a heavier one. Even if Rogers wasn’t a serial murderer, and I wasn’t one of his victims, it’s not healthy. If it was just sex, then Rogers and I probably would have been alright, could have walked away and brushed off the dust, but turning it romantic made things unhealthy. Saying that our love story was a love story in the first place, let alone a good one, kind of... it’s a dark, blurred area, I think. It’s kind of like a game, and relationships shouldn’t involve people toying with each other.”

Kat considers this. “Fair,” she says. “But I think that a reason why people view it as a good relationship, and a stunning romance was because of the chemistry that the two of you have together. Every single scene that the two of you had together were scenes that all but rippled tension to viewers from the screens. I mean, how was it for you guys, shooting scenes that were dark and intense?” 

“We’ve always had good chemistry,” Steve says, before he realizes he’s talked himself into a hole. “At this point, it would be kind of pathetic if we _didn’t_ considering we’ve known each other for nearly a decade. I don’t think either of us had to fake that, you know? It was kind of nice, if I’m going to be fully honest, because I would rather have done those scenes with someone I knew and could trust rather than someone I didn’t.” 

“And with the way we shot them,” Tony adds on, with a funny look Steve’s direction, “It was generally different. Peggy made us do a lot of our scenes in one continuous take. The first scene where we’re actually together onscreen, the scene where Rogers seduces me again, that one was our first take, first shot. Sure, I think they used different cameras on us to catch everything, but that was one take, one shot. It was also the first scene we shot together, funny enough. There wasn’t room to be awkward, and I feel like with Steve, it could have never been awkward.” Steve has to remind himself that he is on national television before his mind starts telling him just what had happened during that scene and how hot it had been. 

Kat nods, but there’s a strange expression on her face as well, as if she’s discovered something new. Maybe it’s because of what Tony had just told her. “How long did it take to practice that scene, then? To get every detail and movement perfect?” 

“Peggy made us walk in blind,” Steve says, and he notices how the audience has gone suspiciously quiet, “I mean, we knew our lines and the gist of what was happening, but it was all kind of spontaneous. That scene, especially. We genuinely had to give the performances of our lives and behave as if everything was real, especially with the all-capturing camera angles, because we couldn’t hide and Peggy didn’t want to offer us the lifeline of a second take.” 

“It looked like it had been planned,” Kat says in amazement. “Normally in movies I know they have choreographers to block movements out, especially ones as high-energy and charged as yours. It takes planning and extreme coordination to make everything look good, so that you did it without any such preparation is astonishing. My next question, I guess, was how much of that was faked? If you had had to make it real, how of it _was_ real?” 

“Steve and I started laughing at each other the second Peggy called cut on that one,” Tony reveals with a smirk. “The scene was supposed to cut off right as I said my words, and no one cut us off until about a minute after, so we just had to try and do something to fill in the gaps until she finally told us to stop and take five. But Steve and I kept laughing after that. We couldn’t film anything else usable that day. So, no, a lot of that was faked.” 

“Laughing,” Kat repeats. 

“If you had to kiss your best friend on screen in front of twenty people who thought it would be funny to watch you stumble a scene, you have to find some humor in it to stop yourself from fucking up the scene in anger,” Steve points out, though he’s never been such a damned liar. There had been no humor in him trying to control his libido during the entire scene, just general lust. The only reason he had started to laugh because Tony and him had finally pulled away and he thought it was just so funny that he had throughly messed Tony up for this one scene. “Oops, can I swear?” 

“We have a censor,” she says, “But not every other word.” 

“Okay,” Tony says. “That’s fair. But he’s right. Somehow, we made it work.” 

####  **and the oscar nominees are...**

Here’s the thing: the Oscar nominations come out the very same day that marks the four-year anniversary of his mother’s death. The exact minute that they actually come out, he’s in front of his mother’s grave, crying at her headstone and resolutely ignoring all the paparazzi that are trying to discretely snap photos of him. There have to be more of them usual this year, because of the Oscar nominations happening today. The paparazzi go wild for anyone who even starred in a recent movie during nomination day. Usually, there’s always handful or so who take pictures of him at the graveyard every year because they’ve realized that today is his mother’s death day. Steve can’t do anything about it that wouldn’t bring attention to himself, so he has taken to ignoring them. It’s easy, he finds, because it’s hard to see anything though his own tears. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, so that no one can hear his words. They may plaster his slumped form on every tabloid, but they will never get his words if he can’t help it. “I haven’t come here in a while; I haven’t talked to you in a while. It hurts, ma, I wish you were here with me right now. I’m sorry. I don’t know know how you did it when Dad died, and you loved him just as much as I do you. It hurts, ever since you died and it’s never gone away. How did you do it? How did you deal with losing everyone, because I can’t even handle missing you for a day. It’s been four years and it hurts.” 

Steve doesn’t realize he’s crying until his hand reaches up to wipe his eyes on instinct. 

“Every time I book a movie I just want to call you and tell you everything that I can and you’re not there,” Steve says, “I just... this was you just as much as it was me and you’re not here for it. Centre of the World did so well and I wish you could have seen it. You would have been proud of me, I hope, that I did something out of my league. No one thought I should have taken the role, but you would have told me to take it. You would have loved the movie. Got a Golden Globe for it.” 

He pauses when footsteps approach his way, fearful that it’s some paparazzi, even if the cemetery itself is closed to those who don’t have a specific person or purpose to visit. Steve hates himself for having to think about that when he has to visit his mother, but it’s one of the few detractors of the life. Not that he has to worry for long, not when a familiar dark cologne washes over him. Feeling himself releasing the sudden pent-up tension, he closes his eyes and hums through a few prayers. 

In that time, he feels Tony stop right next to him on his right, and kneel just like Steve is doing. 

“Hey Mrs. Rogers,” he hears Tony say, placing something down. “Sorry I’m late, I wanted to get you flowers, but Mamá started crying and then I started crying at the flower shop. The florists spent half an hour trying to calm the two us down. All of us miss you, you know. I bought lilies for you; the plain white ones you loved so much even if everyone else teased you for it. Found the shop and everything, no thanks to Steve.” 

“We finished that movie together,” Steve says weakly, opening his eyes to see Tony. He does look like he’s cried a little bit. “I want you to be here, just to be proud.” 

Tony laughs. “I hope you’re proud of us, Mrs. Rogers, your boy just bagged an Oscar Best Leading Actor Nomination and I a Best Supporting Actor.” 

Steve freezes and stares at Tony, unable to speak at the shocking news. 

####  **the Golden Globes**

When Tony’s name is called for the Best Film Supporting Actor, Steve reacts faster than Tony does, by springing to his feet and all but pulling Tony up to stand. Tony blinks away his surprise fairly quickly, and hugs Steve tightly. Steve can feel the presence of Tony’s grin, and he laughs proudly. 

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers as he lets go of Steve to actually wall up on the stage and accept the award. “I don’t have a speech prepared.” 

Steve laughs at him, and shoes him out and out onto the stage. Tony smiles and goes, happy smile radiating from his entire body. Despite what Peggy on his other side says, he does not have stars in his eyes at the sunshine coming from Tony right now, even if it is nighttime right now. She’s teasing him. Again. 

Tomy gracefully takes his award from Selina Kyle and Margaret Smith and grins at the crowd. “Thank you,” he warmly says. “You know what? I’d like to start off thanking Steve Rogers, who just laughed in my face when I said I didn’t have anything planned to say. He was also the one who told me that the chances of either him or I winning were slim.” 

Steve laughs and shakes his head at Tony, despite knowing that the cameras must be panning to him even as everyone in the crowd laughs. 

“But in all seriousness, I probably should thank the idiot for being the reason I took the role. Thanks Stevie,” Tony says, smirking. “I also have to thank the entire cast and crew of Centre of the World for being absolute gems of human beings and for supporting the movie and I this entire process of awards season. This couldn’t that been possible without any of you, least of all Director Peggy Carter and our lovely producers and writing team, the Howlies. The six of you deserve this award just as much as I do, you know. I’d like to also thank the two lovely ladies in my life, my mother and the fabulous Pepper Potts, for being ever so supportive and helpful. Thank you so much.” He winks, running a hand through his hair and walking off the stage as the music plays him out. 

It takes a few minutes, but Tony makes it back to the table with a proud smile on his face. He grins and waves it excitedly. 

“Very nice,” Peggy tells him as he sits back down. The Howlies nod their support, and all in all, the miss the next performance on stage because of their whispering to Tony. No one, thankfully, picks up on it, enraptured by whatever performance it is that is on stage right now. 

Soon enough, though, awards come out for Best Director and Best Screenplay, which fall to Peggy and the Howlies respectively. Peggy beams, smiling with her lips pursed tightly. 

“36 years ago, Barbara Streisand won this same award, and in those 36 same years, not a single woman has had the honor to hold this award in her triumph. I know as I say this, there are always the detractors who say that women are not qualified to hold this trophy and their hands and proudly smile; they are the same people who dare say that Barbara Streisand was not worthy, and the same who will later say I am not worthy. Oh, but we _are_, aren’t we? Did Patty Jenkins not direct the third-highest grossing movie of the world in her year two and a half years ago? Did Ava DuVernay not direct a critic-lauded masterpiece? Did Kathryn Bigelow not direct one, but two award-winning movies in the span of five years that earned her accolades and acclaims from everywhere _but_ here?” 

Peggy’s emphasized pause and sharp look at the audience immediately fosters chills. 

“This award is for every girl and woman who aspires to become a director. We need you to shape the stories from different perspectives, and we need you to represent, because you can do this. You can be right up here, same as I, as long as you believe in yourself. I believe in you; do yourself a favor and believe in yourself. Believe you can stand on this stage and inspire the next generation or female directors. All of you.” She smiles and gracefully walks off stage, escorted by one of the presenters. It takes a few minutes for her to reach the table, but when she does, she breathes a sigh of relief. Steve gives her two small thumbs up when she shoots him a look clearly meant to ask how her speech was. Peggy smiles again. 

Of course, they all leap to their feet and cheer loudly when the Howlies win for best Screenplay. Across the room, everyone from Centre of the World are cheering. The Howlies, as befitting of their talent with words, kill their speech that Steve is too busy being happy for them to listen and soak it all in. Oops. 

Awards come and go. And finally, after what seems like an eternity, the presenters begin to announce the nominees for his category. Steve just wants to see his name pop on the screen, and then he’ll be satisfied—just to feel the honor of being _nominated_. 

“From an idealistic artist in the summer of Spain in 1989 to an irredeemable murderer with a perchance for order, here are the nominees for the best leading male actor in a dramatic motion picture role,” they read, and the screen behind starts to play the clips of the other nominees and their roles. 

His is last, and as the narrator says, “Steve Rogers, for Centre of the World.” The scene behind is the one where Steve rises from the ground with a truly frightening expression after carving up a recent victim. People ask him often where he had pulled the expression from, and where he drew his inspiration from, but Steve has absolutely no clue. He didn’t really know that his face could do that. 

“And the Oscar goes to... Steve Rogers, for Centre of the World!” 

Steve is stunned that he’s won. He knows there have to be cameras in him that are showing the country how dumb he looks, but he can’t bring himself to actually process it. He just won a Golden Globe. A Golden Globe for the best Drama Actor in a Leasing Role. Steve’s mind is shutting down, and he can’t even register that he’s walking into the stage until someone hands him the physical award. He blinks and smiles. 

“This is... I shouldn’t even _be_ here,” Steve says helplessly, gesturing to the ceremony with a befuddled expression everyone laughs at. “I didn’t think I was going to be invited to the Golden Globes, to be honest, I—my god, I think I’ve somehow brainwashed people into thinking I’m a decent actor.” He stares at his award for a second in amazement, shaking his head in amazement as people continue to laugh. He’s suddenly aware of the looming time limit that’s going to hit if he doesn’t start talking and talking fast. “It just has to be because of the amazing cast and crew from Centre of the World, who I’d love to give a big shout-out to. They’re the true criminals, with how they killed it. Without their performances and their magic, my role would have been nothing, let alone award-worthy. Especially to Peggy Carter and Tony Stark—is this what you two meant when you kept telling me that all the crazy things we did would pay off? Well, something happened. And to Maria, Bucky, and Sam, I love the three of you dearly for all the support and patience I’ve gotten from you. Same goes for everyone who’s part of the coffee circle, you know who you are. But most of all I’d like to thank anyone who has ever watched a movie that I’ve been in. You have no idea what that means to me—an actor owes their job to the people who watch them on any screen. Thank you.” 

He walks down, delighted in his movements. 

####  **the Oscars**

When Steve hears his name announced, he thinks he’s dreaming. In fact, even when his body responds and he walks up with a smile he knows will leave wrinkles in his face when he’s seventy, he’s numb to the core. He’s really not in the moment; Steve is lost to the confines of his mind, screaming. He smiles and nods as the presenters give him a little hug and an encouraging nod. Steve feels himself putting down the Oscar to hold the microphone without feeling like he was playing a juggling act. 

_Steve opens his mouth to speak, and reality hits him faster than a bullet. Oscars. Oscar. Victory. His. Stage. Speech. Ma. _

“I—” Steve says, looking out into the mostly supportive crowd—since there are always a few people who hadn’t approved of the gayness of CotW. But that’s never mattered, not when he’s always had the support of one person looming over him. That’s all he makes before he bursts into tears; it hits him that his ma isn’t here to watch him. He sees the audience in front of him startle, but pays them no attention; half these people have seen him cry in Centre of the World anyway. 

“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t be crying right now,” he apologizes, trying to force a smile on his mouth. It wavers, and he tries to force all images and memories of his ma out of his mind. But Steve’s never been good at trying to forget her, not even for a minute, and so the memories plague him still. “It’s just—when I was 5, I watched the Oscars for the first time and told my mother I wanted to be on that stage. When I was 6, 7, 8, 15, 18... same story, same picture. Spent long nights and confidence-low moments practicing and perfecting a hypothetical Oscar speech. You know, so I wouldn’t forget to thank everybody. And as the years went on, the list of people grew and shrank, changing once over and then twice fold. There’s only ever been one person who’s made ever single iteration of that list; one person who I’d thank every last lucky star to and—” 

Steve stops short, trying to stop himself from crying a new round of tears. He looks up and swallows hard, counting to five before he deems himself fit to speak again without tearing up. Voice wavering and all, he opens his mouth to speak and prays that somewhere, he has the strength to finish talking. 

“Doesn’t feel right holding this without her here,” Steve says, even though he’s technically not holding it. But everyone knows what he means anyway. “Doesn’t feel right to stand here without her cheering me on, watching me on this stage from those red seats. Doesn’t even feel right being here without her. I mean, this is a _dream_ come true, that a guy like me from Brooklyn could stand on this stage coming from nowhere and nothing. I should be on top of the world right now, but all I can think about is the fact she’s not here.” 

He laughs self-deprecatingly, wiping the last of his tears off his face and hoping he doesn’t look splotchy. “She’s not here and all I can think is how much I wish I told her that she’s the reason I’m here, the reason I’ve made it this far. Five years ago, on this day, she received a cancer diagnosis, stage four. On the date nominations came out this year, but four years back, she died. And I wonder to this day if she knew what she meant to me. A lot of you voted for me to receive this Oscar, but I have one more thing to ask of all of you, regardless of who you are. Everyone has one person that matters the most to them, and if you don’t, you will one day. Tell them, show them, _communicate_ to them somehow that they mean the world to you. Don’t wait until it’s too late. Trust me. Let them know so you’ll never have it as a question in their mind.” 

Steve manages another painfully honest smile at the crowd and picks up his award as the music starts to play him off; the timing could not have been any better. He slips into the corridor that takes him backstage and cries, letting out a shuddering wrack that shakes his entire body for a second. It’s a nightmare. Out there had been a nightmare disguised as a victory. There had been no salvation, no amount of psyching himself up for the Oscars that could have prevented the meltdown, and he doesn’t know whether to be comforted or tired at the information or revelation. 

He doesn’t know how long he spends crying, or how long the people running the backstage part of the Oscars let him stay in their corner and cry. Maybe he’ll make the news if someone tells on him. Steve won’t give a single fuck about it anyway; he’ll be drunk and crying his entire way next week, probably. 

“Steve,” a soft, familiar voice says in surprise, and he jerks his head up to see the owner of the voice. _Tony._

“Steve,” another concerned, familiar voice says, and Steve looks at the person next to Tony. _Natasha_ _Romanoff_. 

“Don’t,” he says shakily, blowing out his breath in a vain attempt to steady his voice. He knows it’s futile to pretend that he’s okay under the weight of this stupid Oscar and the weight of his mother, but he tries anything. Steve ends up staring blankly at the Oscar. “Please don’t. I can’t.”

Steve doesn’t even realize that they’ve come for him until he feels Natasha's arms around him, holding him as best as she can when his back his firmly against the wall and acting as support for his leg. Instinctually, he leans off the wall and into her embrace—and Natasha is not know for giving away affection freely. She whispers something in Russian to him, soft enough that even if he knew Russian, he doesn’t think he would have picked up what she had said. But he can make a good guess. 

“It was my dream,” he whispers into her hair as her grips on him tightens. Is he shaking? Maybe. “And—” 

“It will be okay,” she murmurs softly. “Your mother would be proud of you. I met her a few times and something tells me that she would be calling you a fool for shedding tears on her behalf. Chin up. It will be okay.” 

He wants to believe it, but he knows that he will always see his Oscar somewhere and think of his ma. Steve smiles weakly, and gently lets go of her, realizing that he’s clinging onto her just as she is letting him, but still. 

“It will,” Tony says kindly, a sad smile on his face belaying his words. He stands there, almost awkwardly like he has no place watching there for the first time that Steve has ever seen him. “Maybe not now, but it will. Somewhere in you probably doesn’t regret hitting submit on the submissions page.” 

Steve laughs, a soft huff of air that brings a slightly relieved look on Natasha’s face, even if she will try to deny it. “You and Peggy submitted for me,” he reminds Tony. “I didn’t do anything.” 

“Of course you didn’t Steve,” Natasha says placidly. Steve knows he’s being played and placated. “The submission just qualified by itself.” She scoffs, but there is still no heat behind it, thank god. But just as he’s about to say something, Natasha catches sight of something, maybe a clock or a sign, and frowns. “Shit. I gotta go read out a name.” 

“I—right,” Steve says blankly, “She’s a presenter. That’s how she got backstage. How did you get backstage, here?” 

“I wasn’t about to let you cry alone,” Tony responds, not unkindly, but sympathetically. “Not when you’ve worked too hard for this, not when she’s worked too hard for you for this. You know, she told me to watch after you. Said you cried too easily.” 

Steve huffs another laugh, another expelling of air that makes him feel like he’s breathing for the first time, suctioning air in and out of his lungs. It’s shaky, and unsure of everything. 

“Well,” Steve says, looking down at the ground. “She’s not wrong.” He suddenly remembers making a bet with his ma about him crying if he ever won an Oscar. His ma had bet yes, and he had bet no, thinking he’d never win one to prove her theory. Steve suddenly finds himself crying. “Goddamnit.” 

“Whoa, Steve, what?” Tony asks, and before Steve knows it, he’s as close as enveloped by Tony’s arms as Tony can try. He’s an ugly crier, so he feels bad for Tony’s suit. But that doesn’t stop him from heaving into Tony’s shoulders, trying to make himself as small as possible to fit. 

“I don’t want it,” he says in between loud gasps for air that sound broken to his own ears. “I don’t want it, I just want her back, goddamnit, I want to be happy, not this, I can’t do this, not without her, who am I even kidding, I shouldn’t _be_ here.” 

“You belong here just as much as everyone else,” Tony says. “Come on, Steve, you know you do. Just... if you don’t want the Oscar, sell it. eBay, one cent. Go for it. You don’t have to keep it. Anything that makes you feel better. Steve, come on. Steve.” 

“She—she told me I’d make it up here and cry,” Steve whispers, “Guess she was r-right.” Tony doesn’t say anything in response to that, but Steve thinks he isn’t imagining the tighter hold Tony now has on him. 

He eventually stops crying, sobs eventually subsiding into quieter tears and then completely ending. “This is wrong,” Steve says when he thinks the worst of his shaking has also ended. “Tell me I’m being selfish. Tell me I shouldn’t be crying and wanting Ma like a child.” 

Tony stares at him with an unidentifiable look in his eyes, silent for the longest minute of Steve’s life. “No,” he says slowly, shaking his head. “I’m not. It won’t do anything but make you feel worse. I’m not doing that to you. Especially when you’re the only one that thinks that.” There’s a slight strain to his words. 

“I’d bet my Oscar that the news—” 

“What am I going to do with your Oscar? That’s a given,” Tony jokes briefly, but his expression devolves into seriousness, studying Steve intently. Steve has always known that Tony could almost perfectly read him like an open book, with the exception of just one little thing. “I meant anyone that matters won’t think any less of you.” 

“I—” Steve says in automatic protest, but one look at Tony’s face has him quiet again, sucking in a breath and expelling it slowly. Tony lets go of him, stepping back a footstep or two, hands awkwardly untangling themselves from Steve. It isn’t until they’re gone that Steve misses their warmth. It isn’t until Tony musters up a smile, weak as it is for how concerned Tony evidently is still for Steve, that Steve sees the sadness in Tony’s own expression, the conflict and guilt on Tony’s face that he doesn’t understand. It isn’t until Steve sees the tightness in the way Tony’s eyes are crinkling with his fake smile that Steve realizes that he isn’t the only one mourning his ma. Maybe it’s hurting for Tony just to see Steve so visibly shaken. 

How had he been so blind?

But maybe that also isn’t it. Because as they’re standing their in mutual silence, trying to find new ground, Steve thinks that Tony looks like he wants to reach out again. Tony has the same look that Steve does when he wants to smooth out the tension in Tony’s face—which is a face he’s aware of only because Natasha takes pictures at his expense and gives long, detailed explanations on her interpretation of them. She’s never wrong. 

Does he want to risk her being wrong for the first time? Just how much does he trust Natasha Romanoff and his own instincts? Will he regret it for the rest of his life? Is it worth it? 

“Steve,” Tony says, snapping Steve out of his thoughts. Tony looks downright terrified for Steve, like he could breathe wrong and something’s about to shatter into a million pieces. Brown eyes stare at Steve uncertainly, frozen on what to do, what not to do. Steve just wonders what he looks like right now to provoke such a response from Tony. 

“You have to stop me if I’m wrong,” Steve whispers quietly, looking at Tony as cautiously as he can. 

“What? Ste—” 

Steve kisses him. 

#### the livestream (three months after the Oscars)

“Haven’t done this in a while,” Steve says into the camera, watching people pour into the stream. He’ll give them about a minute before he really starts talking. “No one make fun of me if I can’t remember how to do this again. Please. There’s a lot of people and the last thing I need is my agent yelling at me for being cancelled because I can’t use a camera. I don’t know if people can get cancelled over bad videoing, but I’d probably find a way. Also, I really don’t need my agent yelling at me. I’ve suffered so much under her wrath.” 

He smiles, but his eye catches on a comment asking him why. Steve has to think of ASPCA commercials to stop himself from outright laughing at either their attempt to make him feel better, or their genuine bafflement. 

“And to the one person who’s asked me why my agent hates me, thank you so much for trying. Appreciate it, but it’s a little too late for that,” Steve says, and a flurry of laughing emojis and surprised words flood the comments. Yeah, Steve knows that people had wanted him to talk about it, but were positive that he wouldn’t, since it was three months after the fact. 

Steve lashes for a second and then deems the number of people watching perfect to start going through what he wants. 

“Okay, I’m opening up the Q&A, feel free to hit me with your best shot. Just know that I’m answering what I want,” he says winking at the camera so no one tries anything. He’s gotten the most bizarre questions (and answered them!) and he’s gotten the most invasive question (and he hadn’t acknowledged them). 

Steve scrolls through them on his laptop, skipping over the questions that ask about the mystery woman from his Oscars speech and where we went after the Oscars, since he had missed all of the after-parties. He finally stopped at one that encompassed what he really wanted to talk about. 

“Alright, we’ve got bellabellavilla asking why I hadn’t prepared a speech for the Oscars after I won the Golden Globe. Actually the worst part was that I did. I had a memorized speech, and just in case I forgot it, I wrote it down on a piece of paper and... I wasn’t joking when I said I, you know, had one ready since I was young.” Steve flicks his hand into the air, as if to dismiss his words in mock annoyance at himself. “And...”

Steve shrugs, letting that finish the thought off. People can read into it what they will. “I know I saw too many questions about what caused that disaster. Since I disappeared off the face of the Earth, I kind of... haven’t answered that and I haven’t let anyone else answer that. Honestly, I wasn’t even going to go to the Oscars because I wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind for that, but when there’s a very real chance you might win something, you’re expected to suck it up and go. Well, that’s what I told myself.” 

He smiles, just to try and force his voice from straying into bitterness or a sardonic tone. He takes a moment to think about what he’ll say next. “Yeah, no. I’m a naturally crowd-anxious person, even though I’ve gotten better at that, and the day of the Oscars was just... I think the final straw was not being able to see her like I always thought I would. Okay, now I’m going to get weepy, next question, let’s do this.” 

Steve scrolls. “Oh my god,” he says in the midst of reading through the comments, trying to find a question, period. “There are so many hearts. I don’t understand. Why are there so many hearts? I’m one step away from crying and everyone’s sending me hearts. Send me tissues, guys. Really need them. Okay. Wow. I haven’t found a single word in a minute. And... here!” 

He silently fistpumps to himself, finding something. “Question from itsstarsandstripes, asking where did you, or me, I guess, go for three months, five question marks. I went home, like, Brooklyn home, and I want to say that I’ve been a homebody, but that’s not true. I’ve been working on a new project that’s not seeing the light of day for a few months if we’re lucky, a year or never if not. I shouldn’t be talking about it though, oops. I’d be fired or something if I even breathed a word about what it was. So, shh. Um, and, I’ve caught up on so many books and movies and shows. And—” 

A comment pops up on the screen that throws him off. He knows that everyone can tell that he’s been thrown off, and what exactly caused that. Steve knows it’s nothing to be ashamed of, and _also_ that he doesn’t have to even acknowledge it if he doesn’t want to, but maybe he should. He has a voice to use. And he can’t give off the wrong tone by ignoring it; everyone knows that he’s seen it. 

“Not that I think you should ask anyone this,” Steve says, looking down so the camera can’t catch his eyes while he’s still thinking of what to say, “but it’s slightly true. Apparently there’s a rumor going around that I was checked into rehab. Um, no. I don’t even know if there’s a rehab facility for someone who cries too much. I’m not even talking about Bambi.” Steve laughs. “But I’ve been seeing a grief counselor for two and a half months. All I can say is that I should have been doing it for the past four years.” 

Steve’s about to find a new question, a happier one, when he hears the door open and close. Tony. On reflex, he leans back against the sofa and leans against it hard enough that it moves back, so he can see Tony walk in. Granted, Steve’s head is also tipped back like crazy, like he’s baring his throat to the camera, but he’s also been told it’s a flattering angle—it’s fine. 

“You’re back early,” Steve says, knowing that everyone can hear him, but they can’t see his face. So he mouths a shhh, without actually pushing the air through. It’s tricky, especially when he can’t put a finger against his lips to actually solidify the gesture but Tony’ll know what he means. That they have an audience. “What’s up?” 

Tony merely smirks, so Steve smiles and then straightens himself back out, sitting properly on the couch. “Sorry, guys, I thought I was going to be the only one here right now. Apparently not. Which brings me to the next question, by toonieandsteeb, which I probably didn’t say right. Wait a second. That’s... that’s just me and Tony. Steeb. God. Steeb.”

He has to hide his laughter with a hand, and then resorts to covering his face with both hands to hide his red expression. He’s laughing too hard, he knows it, goddamn. At least everyone knows he’s an absolute idiot already. 

“Steeb,” he gasps when he thinks his face isn’t too red anymore. “Okay, I gotta be serious. Crap. I’m not even going to think about the other half; I’ll start laughing and I won’t stop. Okay. I got this. Okay. The questions asks why the background looks different. Um, you mean like...” 

Steve gestures to the apartment all around him with a hand, waving frantically everywhere. The same commenters sends a thumbs up emoji. 

“Well, I did move. I’ve been looking at new places since last year, so I finally found someplace in Brooklyn I like. A lot better than my old place, I gotta say, but I also feel like if anyone finds out where I am, I’m screwed. Last apartment, no one still found me, by some stroke of luck, so it’s actually on the market and no one knows it’s mine. But, uh, if anyone of you move into an apartment in Brooklyn and you find random blue cranes everywhere, I’m really sorry. I swear, I thought I got them all.” 

He pauses when he hears Tony’s footsteps right behind him, but tries to focus anyway. Lucky for him, the camera’s angled just so that the top 3/4 of anyone who walks in behind him and the sofa won’t be caught by it. Which Steve had thought would be enough, when he had planned for Tony possibly coming back early (even though the chances would be extremely slim). 

So when Tony absentmindedly dips down low and places a quick kiss on the top of Steve’s head, before walking away to do god knows what, Steve knows immediately that there’s not enough planning in the world that could have prevented that. It doesn’t stop him from turning pink, the realization that he couldn’t have stopped it, but at least he doesn’t turn red or start stammering. This is fine, he tells himself, this is absolutely fine. It’s okay; the truth had to have come out sometime. Steve very carefully doesn’t think about it. 

What makes it worse, is that Tony comes back, backpedaling, and gestures at the camera with a nod to it. “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes. “I didn’t know you were recording. Just cut it out. All of it.” 

Steve stares straight into the camera with an unamused expression, before looking back to Tony, who’s now leaning over the sofa so that he can also be captured on camera. Tony’s using the screen to fix his hair, actually. 

“This is a livestream,” Steve says dryly. “Say hi.” 

Tony’s face loses all colour, and his hands drop from his hair. “What?” he asks, sounding horrified. “It’s a what now?” 

“It’s a livestream,” Steve repeats much more slowly, enunciating each and every word because he’s a bastard. But he nods almost imperceptibly to Tony, so that his boyfriend doesn’t start worrying that Steve’s upset that he’s been technically outed to everyone. “So say hi. They’ve all watched you fix your hair; there’s no hiding now.” 

Something flickers in Tony’s eyes: guilt, concern, worry, panic, apology, regret. But he picks up the program pretty well and smirks at the camera. “Oops,” Tony says shrugging. “Hi. But I better not see any gifs of me fixing my hair online. That’s sacred space right there.” 

Steve looks at the camera conspiratorially. “Rule number three of publicity: nothing in the internet ever goes away. Guess I’ll just have to see possibly adorable gifs of Tony floating around on Tumblr and Twitter that you guys should definitely not be making right this very moment and after.” 

“You’re an enabling idiot,” Tony says, and when Steve turns to make a face at Tony, he almost turns a little pink at the fondness on Tony’s face that lasts for a split second. And then it’s gone, but Steve now knows what that face looks like. Very interesting. 

When he looks back at the livestream, Steve shrugs, not denying it. “What was I talking about before?” he asks, wondering if he actually finished answering the question suddenly. 

“Blue cranes,” Tony responds, though several dozen commenters are faster than Tony. “But I don’t think anyone wants to hear about the blue cranes anymore.” 

“Hmm,” Steve says, looking through the comments and playing dumb. “I think I lost all the questions from before; send in news ones!” Tony huffs a laugh. They both know that they’re only one question everyone’s going to ask now. 

“Oh my god Steve, Maria’s on this,” Tony says suddenly, and Steve winces. “Alright, there’s a question from Steve’s agent, and she asks why Steve’s being a coy bastard when subtlety isn’t in his nature. Wow. Steve, she really went for you.” 

“Word of advice to everyone or anyone who wants to get in the industry,” Steve says, straight-faced, “Find an agent who doesn’t want to watch you suffer. Or an agent who doesn’t make fun of your slippers. Listen, anyone who disses your Iron Man slippers is a fake friend. How else am I supposed to show my appreciation for Iron Man?” 

“Or you could tell me how much you appreciate me,” Tony says, barely hiding a laugh. “You know being your roommate and all.” Steve shoots him a sly look. 

“Is that what you’re calling it?” Steve asks dryly, finding the perfect opening to confirm their relationship. “Wow, you think a guy likes you but suddenly you’re only roommates. Though you know what they say about roommates...” Steve winks suggestively at the camera, knowing the comments are about to blow up. 

“Alright guys, I have to go, hope people got _something_ out of this. And be sure to leave questions on my Instagram post, I’ll be answering a few of those as well that I hadn’t got to here!” 

And with that, Steve closes out of the livestream, knowing that it’ll still stay up for the next 24 hours. He closes the laptop, and his phone. When he’s certain everything has been turned off, he sinks back into the sofa and laughs. And laughs, tapering off into a soft chuckle that he tries to hide by covering his face with his hands, as if that would muffle the sound. 

Steve feels Tony plop down next to him, and says, “Secret’s out.” 

“You okay?” Tony asks, concern tinging his voice. Steve removes his hands from his face and opens his eyes, turning to look at Tony. “I know that you didn’t want to—” 

“Better on our own terms than anything else. Besides, I admitted to everyone that I’m not okay. Pretty sure that I was going to be in the news anyway. Might as well get everything out, right?” Steve jokes, quirking a grin. 

“You’re putting on a brave face,” Tony accuses him, “Stop doing that. I just outed our relationship; I outed you.” 

“I wasn’t ever in the closet, per se,” Steve argues, furrowing his eyebrows. “Everyone’s been speculating on me since my first movie. Well, maybe just Tumblr and wishful thinking, but whatever. I really, really don’t care. I just wish it could have been ours for a little longer.” 

“You sure?” Tony asks, still incredibly guilt-ridden. “Hell, you didn’t even tell any of us.”

“I flirt with everyone when I’m in the mood for it,” Steve says, giving Tony a strange look, since he honestly thought Tony knew that he’s not exclusively into a particular gender. “I thought I didn’t have to come out.” 

“We could have done this a lot longer ago if I knew,” Tony says, though his eyes are wide like something has just occurred to him. Good Steve thinks, he better be thinking about that. 

“We did the entire movie together and you didn’t ever think, hey, Steve’s too comfortable with this? Huh, I wonder why.” 

“Shut _up_,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. 

“You’re so very lucky that you’re cute and I love you,” Steve tells him.


	3. the last night you’ll get up on it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony _**hate**_ each other. It's a proven fact. Rogers is friendly to everyone but Tony, and Tony pretty much gets along and likes everyone but Rogers. Everyone knows this. Everyone also is waiting for them to get over it and make nice. 
> 
> Yeah, right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ratings: T for language
> 
> Warnings: None, unless you’re not into unhappy or ambiguous endings. 
> 
> Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, OMC(s), Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, mentions of Nick Fury, mentions of Pepper Potts, mentions of James “Rhodey” Rhodes
> 
> Tags: Confident Steve Rogers, Dancing Steve Rogers, Post-Iron Man 3, Oblivious Tony Stark, Enemies to Friends, Unhappy Ending, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Coming Out, Dancing, Sassy Steve Rogers, dialogue-heavy (at the end), 20 Questions, Parties, Galas, Hit Drop Go, Mentions of Prostitution, Gay Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark

They think he's wrapped up in his own world. They think he doesn't notice things as much as the rest of them, because he's always thinking in his own head. They think he doesn't care. They think that he can't put two and two together when it comes to people and small, hidden details. They aren't entirely wrong, but they aren't entirely right, either. Half the time, he's all dulled senses and enhanced engineering functions but the other half, he's all alert senses and enhanced thinking. With a few people, he's pays attention all the time, because they deserve him at his best, and so much more than he can give them. He tries to pay attention, and he, he hasn't really messed it up much yet, so something must be going right, right?

On that list, there are Rhodey, Mama Rhodes (and literally any member of the Rhodes clan), Pepper, and his therapist. That list used to hold Edwin Jarvis, Ana Jarvis, Yinsen, and O-_Stane_, but, well, there's only three people on there he wishes could still be on there (and for that matter, also alive). That list, he thinks, may soon be expanded to hold a fifth person. Even if said fifth person doesn't even realize that they're on it. Mainly because they aren't here, at the tower, more often than not. 

Steven Grant Rogers, unlike everyone else on the list, has earned his spot not because Tony likes/respects/cares about him, per se, but because he's fucking Captain America and a guy who is very, very hard to impress—and Tony wants to impress him just once. He's not proud of the reasoning behind it. He doesn't mention this to his therapist, either, because she'd go into a round of daddy issues and self-worth issues. And probably everything else that's wrong with him. But whatever. Tony doesn't _truly_ care. 

Oh, he hasn't lied to himself like this for _years_.

Really, the man is an insufferable, nonagenarian, self-sanctimonious dickhead who has a stick shoved so far up his ass that x-rays probably think he has two spines. Steven Grant Rogers? He's more like Steve 'Goddamnit' Rogers. Fucking jerk. Can't take a single joke, can't accept any kind of an invitation to live at the Tower, can't do anything but yell at Tony; that's who Rogers is. Of course, he's got America and the entire fucking world wrapped around his pinky finger and has them all believing that he's some bastion of apple pie, kindness, and cat-saving goodness. Rogers is a rude, old-fashioned prick, and Tony knows that no one is going to believe him. 

Strangely enough, the team (even Natasha and_ Fury_) loves Rogers, and think he's completely adorable. Pepper—Tony still can't believe she betrayed him—likes Steve enough that they go out to art museums whenever there's a new exhibit at one of them. Even Hill, the poster girl for glares and not cracking a single smile, has been caught smiling or smirking at Steve. _Hill_. And he can't even get started on his best friend, and every single military type who trip themselves up over Rogers. The asshole even knows it, that the military idolizes him, and plays a little game with every higher-than-a-captain officer. Rogers always waits for them to realize that they outrank Captain America, and then has them practically apologizing to his feet, even though they have no reason to. 

The press and absolutely no one has a word against Captain America. Well, besides neo-Nazis, but they're also neo-Nazis. Tony's not about to go and get himself called that by calling Rogers a dick. Hell no. Even, strangely enough, villains have no actual bad things to say about Rogers. They just want to defeat him and brag. Tony's not going to be the one tells them that Steve's like a spring; he'll never not pop back up. Even if it's annoying, and even if it's seven decades later. 

The man is punctual and planned and prepared and perfect and quick-thinking and responsive and responsible and reliable and strategic and serious and everything else that falls in that basket of a perfect soldier. Fury loves him, especially since he shows up to every single meeting/debriefing and actually does his paperwork, extensively. He doesn't miss a single work-related details and really doesn't stop working. On the rare occasion he's not working, Rogers is seemingly moping in SHIELD-assigned apartment that's incredibly pathetic.

At least, this is what Tony tells himself when he's sitting in a mission briefing room with everyone else while Fury is yelling at the man about where Rogers is. Apparently he's not responding to his phone, and someone (Tony) has removed all of SHEILD's trackers so they can't even place him. For the first time, Rogers isn't here with a call to fight. Tony would be smirking and cracking jokes if it weren't for the fact that Fury had just ordered them to go find Rogers and bring him here to HQ. Though, picturing the dressing down Rogers was going to get after it was worth the yelling. 

The joke is also slightly on SHIELD. He has his own trackers on Rogers's devices, because he's not ever going to be responsible for losing America's favorite golden man. All he has to do is open up a locating app and he knows where Steve is. So he does just that while Fury is yelling, passing it off as playing a game on his phone. The locator takes just under a minute to find him, and Tony almost drops his phone in surprise. According to his phone, Rogers is at a bar that Tony is familiar with. A gay bar, to be much more exact, and not even the most reputable of places. Tony knows it because it's the last place anyone would expect him, a playboy billionaire, to be when he wants a causal drink. 

The question remains on why Rogers would be at it, since nothing about a gay bar would go along with his old constitution. 

So he actually opens up a mindless bubble game on his phone and waits for Fury to be done yelling. He bolts out of there, which isn't exactly uncommon behavior, and then heads into his car. This, he has to check for himself, because it's surreal enough he can't fully grasp it.

He can't also believe that there's a chance that his tracker and app system is wrong, though. It's impossible to think. He just thinks that Rogers being actually at End Line is harder to believe. So he drives, and he's grateful he never brings anything but the cheapest-looking cars to SHIELD on days where he has new missions with the team. The rich and the vanilla get eaten for breakfast at a place like End Line, so virginal Steve Rogers doesn't even has a chance. 

Steping onto the relatively clean floors of the entrance—that he knows get dirtier the farther in the bar someone goes—Tony is instantly caught by the smell of cheap, watered-down beer and sex. He glances at the musty wooden walls that enclose the bar, save for the chipped stone and metal one behind the bartenders, and then the unflattering golden lights that everyone knows used to be white. There’s something on the edges of the only two free stools that he isn’t sure is blood or not. Sometimes, he wonders how this place still manages to escape health safety, and then the owner of this place always pops into his mind. Talk about a manipulative, charming bastard.

No one registers who he is here, and if they do, they don’t care. At all. It’s pretty refreshing, actually, and today’s been the kind of day he’d love to drink here, but unfortunately, he’s on a mission, no matter how self-imposed. The bartender takes one good look at him and probably jumps to the conclusion that like a few of the non-regulars here, he’s a higher middle class, middle-aged man with a midlife crisis that brought him here. He already starts prepping a drink for Tony, something stereotypical, but Tony keeps walking ahead, trying to find Rogers while ignoring all the stares he’s getting. It’s obvious that none of the other middle-aged patrons—ah he suddenly realizes he’s wearing a goddamn suit—venture this far in, where inhibitions are lowered and there’s no such thing as dancing, just sex upright. 

Still no Rogers, and Tony’s disappointed his system has lied to him. He eyes the newly freed, bloodless stool right near the handsome bartender and decides he can use a drink. Tony orders and watches the bartender do a double take, rolling his eyes. 

“Should I feel honoured?” he asks, putting two and two together. He slides the drink over expertly, deft hands having put it together seconds before. 

“Depends,” Tony responds, downing a third in one shot. “I was looking for a friend, but maybe trouble’s what I want.”

The bartender considers this for a moment, before smirking. “Describe your _friend_.”

“He’s 6’2”, blond, blue eyes, muscles on muscles, uptight personality with a great ass, and probably not here,” Tony describes as the other man’s smirk deepens, somehow recognizing the description and knowing full well who is being described. 

The man points to the blond coming out of the bathroom and comments, “You know, everyone knows who Steve is.”

Tony tries to hide his shock at the information that has been revealed to him and instead looks at Rogers. Rogers, who’s in jeans that look like they’ve been stitched onto him for how tight and ass-flattering they are, and a green-gray Henley that shows off every flexing muscle while leaving nothing to the imagination. His hair is messy and tousled in a way that Tony’s never seen in. He can’t make much out, but he can tell that the shirt is buttoned, for hoe the light doesn’t reflect off of them right.

“Steve,” the bartender yells over, which means Tony has to stop staring like a lunatic, “You have a friend looking for you!”

Rogers makes his way over with a smirk, not noticing Tony yet. He laughs casually as he gives the bartender a good natured grin. “Rafi,” he admonishes with a roll of his eyes as he slides sideways in the space between two bar patrons. He leans against the counter with his back to Tony, arm on the table and propping up the left side of his face, still oblivious, and jokingly chides, “Y'know, one of these days you should stop tellin' people to come an' find me. I might start carin' an' chargin' ya for somethin' or another.”

He says it all in a thick Brooklyn (was part of it Irish?) accent that Tony never knew Rogers had. Actually, Rogers being this carefree and light, without the stick up his ass and without that permanent scowl was something Tony hasn't even imagined. He thinks he would more sooner believe this was a cheerier, possibly gayer, more carefree and casual clone of Rogers than Rogers himself. Seriously, the sexuality (because why else would Rogers be here at a gay bar like a regular and look so comfortable?) reveal was shocking enough that Tony wondered if he was overthinking it. Maybe Rogers was here as a friend or something... but Tony hadn't even known that Rogers was aware of the mostly accepted LGBTQIA+ community, let alone be someone from the 1940's who accepted it this well. He can't handle this information right now, and—

“Hey,” the bartender protests, throwing a hand up. “I haven't done anything this time.”

“Uh huh,” Rogers says with such amused disbelief that it's hard to even picture what the expression on his face is. “And my _friend_ showed up here randomly, asking specifically for me.” The way he says friend, almost like a double entendre, coupled with his previous words of charging money for people finding him, has Tony's mind spinning with possibilities that are all very, very unlikely. And yet, he can't help but think that Rogers's very presence here is unlikely, why not what else he's thinking? 

“You guessed it in one,” the bartender says, before someone down the left end of the counter calls for him, rather impatiently and rudely. But Tony can't really say he expects any different from the people here; that's the nature of this place. “He's behind you, by the way. You'll recognize him.”

Tony can hear Rogers scoff before he turns around and comes face to face with Tony. The casual, friendly asshole vibe from Rogers completely dissolves into one of a practiced neutrality. He stiffens and tenses so much that Tony realizes how relaxed he was just seconds prior. Because this abrupt transformation, this posture that Rogers is sporting? It isn't anything new to Tony. This is what Tony sees when he looks at Rogers everytime. This is, apparently, a complete lie. 

Wait. Not a lie. 

This is Captain America. 

And Captain America hates Tony Stark just as much as Tony Stark despises Captain America.

Which is why less than a minute later, both of them end up storming down the bar stairs that clearly are marked for employees only, with Rogers fuming and Tony curious. This place is surprisingly clean, albeit a little dark.

“_What_ are you doing here?” Rogers growls, all but trapping Tony, back up against the closest wall from the stairs. The suit just might be a lost cause at this point if the wall is as _clean_ as the rest of this place. “What the _bloody fucking **hell**_ are you doing here?”

“Looking around,” Tony shrugs, “Wanting a drink, maintaining a low profile, searching for you, finding you, oh you know, basic things.” He tries to steel himself at whatever is about to come next, but he has to face it. When it comes to Rogers, Tony is never prepared, and he's never fully giving as best as he could. He barely manages to give as good as he gets by means of insults and backhanded jabs. 

Rogers's jaw sets as his face darkens and glares at Tony, pinning him better to the wall than any shackles could ever hope to. “Congratulations, you found me. And now you know _Captain America's_ dirty little secret.” His voice is mocking and harsh, especially when it comes to his superhero alter-ego. 

Tony wants to backtrack, backtrack, backtrack faster than he can think or even handle right now. “Fury—”

The blond's expression is icy cold as he snaps, “Don't tell me Fury called me in; he gave me a mandatory two week vacation that's to be obeyed unless aliens attack. Sky's still intact and all, so that isn't it.”

Tony gapes, because he hadn't known that. At all. Huh, that explained why none of them had seen Rogers in over a week. “He d—”

“Where's the tracker that's on me?” Rogers sharply asks, fishing out his phone from his back pocket. “It's yours, isn't it? It has to be yours, never mind, why'd I ask? Tell me where it is.” When he doesn't respond, Rogers's voice increase in volume as he demands, “Tell me where the fuck it is.”

“You're not going to—” Tony starts to say, before Rogers stops him with an impatient hand and shakes his head bitterly, already knowing what he's about to say. 

“Like I said, congratulations. Stupid me of being careless, but I really had thought that you had better things to do than track my life. Was this what you wanted, Stark? My dark scandal?”

That stupid, stupid joke he always made around Rogers. And now it was coming to bite him back. Of course. Tony doesn't know how much of this he can take before he snaps himself and they walk away with more bruises than necessary, and perhaps a broken bone or ten on Tony's part. “Homosexuality isn't a perversion or a crime, Rogers, I think it's time to get up to speed.”

Rogers glances at him incredulously, as if to ask _can you believe this man_ and then laughs bitterly. “You think I don't know that? But do you really think that _Captain America _is allowed to be gay? That I'm _allowed_ to be gay?” There it is again; Rogers spitting out Cap like its always left a bad taste in his mouth. 

Tony shrugs. There are worse press incidents and issues than the conservatives coming after Rogers. "Why not? And back then, anyway, you had Carter, right? So you're what, bisexual? Pansexual? Polysexual? Preferring not to put labels? You like women, so I mean, you'll only get yelled at half the—” 

Rogers cuts in sharply. “Don't tell me that I'm half gay, or whatever you're about to say, and don't tell me that I can just date women and get away with liking men as well sometimes. I'm fucking gay and I can't fucking choose to just like girls; I've been trying for the past twenty damned-something years! And if you really don't know why I can't just be out with it, I really don't know what's to tell you, Stark. Thought you were supposed to be smart." 

This is a revelation on top of everything else he's learned today. Unfortunately, he's going to have to table it and focus with the issue at hand: Fury still needs Rogers. 

"What is your problem today? Fury needs you, and we're in what may as well be a bar back alley yelling about your goddamned sexuality that I couldn't care less about right now. Youre acting like it’s the center of my world or something. Whatever. You're saying you're off-duty, and he's saying you aren't, so we're going to get this straightened out and then, do whatever. I don't fucking care, Rogers, newsflash!" 

Tony really cannot believe he's being the reasonable one. Nevertheless, Rogers loses some of his tension, and he silently dashes upstairs, leaving Tony downstairs and wondering what the hell kind of day today is. When he finally goes upstairs, Rogers is nowhere to be found and the bartender just gestures out with a glare. Great; he's managed to piss this guy off too, and he made good drinks. 

* * *

For the most part, both Tony and Rogers—he's actually Steve now, since Pepper and Natasha basically forced them to work out a few differences—act like that day never happened. In fact, Tony's has all but physically erased that memory from his mind, had it not been for the fact that he didn't want to forget how Steve took his temper out on Fury. It turned out that Steve had been right about having vacation, and that SHIELD just wanted to make sure he didn't disappear. Basically, it was Fury trying to remind them who's fife they all marched to, except Steve had gone and put a dent in that. 

Steve and Tony aren't friends, not by a long shot and both of them know it. The only things that have changed is that they won't yell at each other every time they talk to each other, and sometimes he'll listen to Steve on the field. Otherwise, they still hate and despise each other to some degree. But, it's possible that in the distant future, they could be friends. Maybe. Everything's still on paper-thin ice. 

So Tony invites Steve to a party he's throwing at the Tower out of good spirit, and Steve accepts it surprisingly, also in good spirit. He didn't even have to say anything to convince Steve to say yes, which really threw him for a loop, considering he had a few things up his sleeve to try and persuade him. Tony'll take it as a win. 

It's maybe nine at night and people are just beginning to have fun and loosen up. There's alcohol flowing freely from the bar that Natasha has ever so graciously offered to work, people talking and laughing everywhere, a game of billiards where Barton would be fleecing the others had they been betting money with how well he's playing, music playing thanks to JARVIS working his coded magic, and everyone having a good time. Except Steve, now that Tony looks around for him like a good host. Because he isn't there, not yet. 

Tony is starting to think that this is maybe why Steve accepted so quickly, had it not been for his eye catching someone coming up the stairs. There he goes. 

That someone happens to be Steve, wearing light wash jeans that are almost even tighter than anything Tony's seen before and a red button-up that could be anywhere from ruby red to maroon with how the light is hitting it. It is also tight-fitting, but it isn't completely ridiculous, and looks just perfect between showing off those muscles and not. Tony wonders just who is in charge of Steve's wardrobe and his outfit choices, and if he wants to send them a thank you basket for helping him move on from khakis and old man plaid. Then again, maybe _this_ isn't also the best for anyone's lust levels, so he doesn't know yet. 

"Tony," Steve greets with a smile, and Tony blinks. He had been staring at the stairs for too long, zoning out for a second. "Sorry I'm late." 

"Yeah," Tony says, because his mind cannot function with how close Steve is to him and how much hotter he looks up close. "That's fine." He makes a prompt exit, lest he lose his cool, and saunters over to Natasha. She already knows what he wants, and he just waits while he thinks. 

Where the hell did these thoughts about Steve come from? Why the fuck does he want to fuck Steve until he couldn't walk right, super soldier or no? What even happened to disliking Steve and taking their glacier-like friendship and actually turning into a friendship? Why does Tony even care? Oh fuck, he cannot be lusting over Steve. 

"Fella done you wrong?" Natasha teases huskily as she slides over his drink. She glances over to Steve, who's chatting with Thor about something involving the little cube in his hand. Thor's, not Steve's. 

Tony flickers his attention over to Natasha, not wanting to be any more obvious, and sends her a seductive smile that both of them know means nothing. "Why don't you do me wrong? I bet it'll feel right." With that stupidly cheesy line, he stifles the urge to grin at himself and break the game Natasha's playing. 

"Seems like you're real broken up over him," Natasha says, glancing over at Steve again. Damn, she's not going to let this one go until he leaves, and maybe not even then. When she looks at Tony, it's to say _go on, keep talking_, and not _shut up_, for the first time. "I wouldn't want to squeeze myself in there." 

"He showed up to my party late," Tony sniffs, "Later than fashionably late. That's rude." 

Natasha smiles at him sympathetically. He blanches, wondering what on earth he's done to deserve such a scary thing. Tony shudders as she says, "You're the host; tell him." She's completely dropped her bartender character. He doesn't to know what to think. 

Just as he finishes his drink and plans to talk to Steve, he notices Steve chatting up some brunette (who he really can't see) near the billiards table. Both of them are talking and laughing at the players, and Clint's drunken determination. Tony really doesn't know how Clint's gotten better with a few drinks, but then again, it's also Clint. No one knows. Well, maybe Natasha. Natasha knows everything. 

He realizes he hasn't exactly left Natasha at the bar yet, so she follows his gaze to Steve and rolls her eyes. "And to think everyone says he's awful at flirting." She sounds a little pissed off, and he immediately can tell that Steve's thwarted all of her matchmaking plans for him just by virtue of being his unique self. He grins and wonders if she knows she's probably been looking at the wrong gender. 

"Who's that?" Tony asks, pointing to the brunette. 

"Maria," Natasha responds without missing a beat. When Tony doesn't say anything in frozen shock, she says, "_I know_." 

"That's Hill? Hardass Hill? Like, Deputy Director Maria Hill?" He probably looks like a fish with all of his gaping, but it's fine. What's not fine is that Maria Hill is laughing and grinning with Steve Rogers of all people. 

"Yes," Natasha says, somehow in a mood to acknowledge all of his stupid antics. He's not going to ask about that either. "Yes, that is." 

"Okay," Tony slowly says. "That's-that's good for her." 

"Mm," Natasha wrinkles her nose. "They're not going to be anything more than friends."

_Yeah_, Tony wants to say, _that's because Steve's not into women_. Instead, he says, "I wasn't saying they were going to date."

"Both of them are married to their jobs. And Hill's the type to hook up and dump anyway." This, Tony did not need to know. 

"And what about Steve?" Tony casually asks, wondering if she'll indulge him this. 

"Straight as my hair," she bluntly says, and he realizes she knows, she's known this entire time about Steve and the fact that Tony knew. Her hair is in ruby red ringlets. "And no one else knows, so don't you dare share it."

"Who do you take me for?" Tony asks, offended at the insinuation. "A, no matter how much I don't like him that's a dick move, especially considering how I found out. B, I'm not about to ruin the dreams of millions of women around the world." 

"Okay," Natasha says, considering it in her mind. "Fair." They talk a little bit more, but break off when Natasha's suddenly busy with her actual role of today. 

But as the party winds down somewhere near midnight, somewhere near one, and he's gliding across the room, checking up and socializing seamlessly, he notices something strange. When he looks at Natasha, who's subtly staring at the same thing with a hint of curiosity, he goes over to her again. Seems like they were wrong, or Steve wasn't telling the full truth. 

"They're definitely going to fuck, right?" Tony asks with a need for confirmation. "I'm not seeing that wrong?" 

"Yes," Natasha responds, blinking. "They are." 

"Hmm," is all Tony says. 

"_I know_," Natasha sighs, and Tony can't help but agree with her. 

* * *

Tony spends the next weeks hiding from Steve every time Steve wears tight clothing, but he definitely does _not_ spend the time wondering about his sexuality. Or the fact that Steve had showed up to the mandatory team meeting late and a little disheveled, promptly ending any and all debates about his virginity, but sparking new ones about _when_ he had lost it. Fury was basically not at all amused, but then Tony had made a remark about the last time _Fury_ had gotten laid, and that was that. Hill showed up fifteen minutes later than Steve, but she looked perfectly put together while holding a cup of SHIELD café coffee, which he knew took a minimum of twenty minutes to receive. Huh. She was good. 

Of course, he can't avoid Steve forever, or even at all now that they’re vaguely friends. For one, the jobs that they have make it impossible for that to happen. And for another, Steve is a goddamn stubborn bastard with no sense of social cues. Okay, maybe he does have social cues; it’s just that he doesn’t know anything about Tony. Nothing. 

Does Steve really need to drag Tony out of his workshop every single time he comes to the Tower? No. Does Steve really need to bodily life Tony out of said workshop when Tony doesn’t come voluntarily? No. Does Steve really need to call Pepper every single time the armor fights him off? Does Steve really need to have JARVIS on his side after Pepper bans Tony from using the armor to fight Steve off? No. Does it all happen anyway? Yes. Unfortunately. 

Somehow Steve has gotten it in his head that Tony is incapable of functioning past 36 hours of no sleep. Bastard. What an absolute bastard. Doesn't he know who Tony is? 36 hours is absolutely nothing, and besides, he has things he needs to be doing. And not just because he's trying to avoid Steve. He's on the verge of finalizing the design for Clint's collapsible bow to work with the explosive arrows correctly. 

But thanks to Steve, his work wife Pepper, his science husband Bruce, his best friend Rhodey, and even Happy (because Steve pulled out all the stops, even after Tony tweaked JARVIS to stop Steve just for tonight) Tony was forced to go to sleep last night. And worst of all, tonight, Tony's kind of thankful he did. Even if Tony spent the first half an hour lying in bed wondering what kind of a relationship name Happy should have. Security bro? Hmm, he is going to have to ask Happy about that.

Because tonight, Tony's at a charity gala that the Maria Stark Foundation is hosting—not to be mistaken for the annual MSFG or any of Tony's parties. Of course, all of the Avengers are now on the roster, as has been the normal for the past few months, but Tony no longer has a need to worry. Thor is off-planet and he's the only one prone to damage things nowadays. Natasha and Clint have made it a competition to charm as many people as possible (which is only good for him) and though it stemmed out of an argument on who has better social skills, Tony isn't going to get in the way of that. Bruce, whenever he comes, always manages to find a fellow scientist or science enthusiast and then spends the entire night talking science. He isn't here tonight though, bowing out thanks to a science conference. Steve, Tony has only worried about once and that was at the initial Avenger's post-Loki press conference because he didn't want to have to be stuck on cleanup PR duty. But after the first one, he had discovered Steve has incredible schmoozing skills, probably gained from being Captain America and being a showgirl. Steve is in no way shy when it comes to people, unlike what his reputation says. 

Though, with the way that Steve is looking like he stepped out of a photoshoot perfectly attractive right now, in that indigo two-piece suit, it isn't hard to see why people flock to him. Seriously, Tony needs to find out whoever does Steve's wardrobe, or even whoever helped him with that suit. It's a necessary task now. Very necessary. 

In fact, with the way Steve looks incredibly confident in that stupid suit, he knows he's probably in the large majority that wants to fuck Steve. The fucker doesn't even have qualms about dancing anymore, even though he did before. As he dances, everyone can't help but notice how his moves are incredibly fluid and precise, just like how he fights. And no, Tony isn't projecting for once; if he looks around, all eyes are quite literally on Steve. Every single time Steve's talks to someone, there's almost always a new check donated. It's incredible, really. 

Tony has no clue what to do. 

Not literally, because on the outside he's talking and laughing with a popular Instagram influencer. On the inside, though, he wonders how he's going to look Steve in the eye without wanting to bang him right there and not picture this. He thinks he was better off when he hated Steve. Except maybe then he would have wanted hate-sex, and that was probably worse. 

Sooner or later, Clint and Natasha drift up to him and he's too used to it to even jump up in surprise. 

"Well, if it isn't my favorite two Avengers," he drawls, managing an exasperated roll of his eyes.

"Nope," Clint says, popping the p and somehow managing to grin over a glass of champagne. Classy, and so much unlike Clint. "We all know your favorites are Bruce and Steve. Because of sex and science."

Tony gasps dramatically. "Has Steve been holding out on science days with Bruce and I? And just because Bruce is my science boyfriend doesn't mean we're fucking. At least I think we aren't. I would know, right? Yeah, I would." 

Clint smirks. Natasha is less than impressed. "Right," she says, voice void of any inflection. "And you're dumber than Hammer." 

Tony doesn't give anything away, though he knows that doesn't work. "Don't tell me you don't want to fuck him," he bluntly says. Both of them look like they're considering it, and he knows he's won that point. 

"Anyone with eyes wants to fuck him in that suit," Clint bluntly says. "But you want to get him every other time too." 

"Please," Tony scoffs, because Natasha's eyeing him carefully and in a way that makes him a little nervous.

"You'd be his type, too," Clint continues ever so thoughtfully. "Dark, snarky, and smart." 

"Yeah, and male?" Tony bluffs again, because Natasha had said that no one else knew and not to give it away. So he can't say anything. 

Clint blinks. "Buddy," the archer slowly says. "You're really not going to tell me that you haven't noticed that Steve swings the other way, right?" Tony gapes, because since when does Clint know? But Clint takes it the wrong way and frowns. "Oh man, did I just—Tasha! You said that he fucking knew! Jesus fuck, outing someone isn't... that's—”

Tony walks away before Natasha says anything, because he sees one of Pepper's 'must schmooze' guests and they're free for the first time of all of tonight. He's been threatened to go through the list of 'must schmooze' guests on pain of 24 hour days and her alerting both Bruce and Steve. And considering that he doesn't want 24 days or that he doesn't want to see Steve often, he's going to go through it. 

Except for one small problem. 

Steve—bastard—cuts him off halfway and stands right in his way. "I've gotten to her already," he says, making sure that no one else can hear in the middle of the room. "Tough woman, by the way. I didn't think she'd crack." 

Tony gapes for what must be the fifth or sixth time that night. "You did what?" He wasn't even aware that Steve knew about the list, let alone was helping Tony with the list. "She did what?" 

Steve smirks and shakes his head. "Your Pepper-ordained 'must socialize' list. I've been going through a few people who are lower priority on it, but then Lucinda Reyes got me for a dance, so I thought, why not?" He looks like he wants to say something else but, then apparently sees something out of the corner of his eye and then stops talking. 

Tony starts to ask him what made him stop, because all that he can see in that direction is a clock and this isn't Cinderella, but Steve beats him to the point once again. 

"You should dance with me," Steve suggests, a smirk on his face and a very flirtatious look in his eyes that's all but challenging Tony. "As a thank-you, you know. Heard it's the polite thing to do." 

So Tony does, and he's proud to say that he can more than easily hold his own with Steve thanks to all of those dance classes when he was younger. "Why are you suddenly helping me with this?" 

Steve's eyes flicker on him with amusement. "Well, a) it's fun, b) I'm fantastic at it, and c) I don't think I would be able to pry you out of your lab every 24 hours, JARVIS and Pepper or not." Suddenly the song changes and he realizes that although the music doesn't call for any 'scandalous' dances, they call for some that involve bodies pressed very close to each other. And Steve doesn't look like he's letting go anytime soon. 

"Where did you learn how to dance?" Tony asks, because he's been dying to find out where Captain Save The Dance has had time and the ability to learn. He couldn't ask before, because that would ean admitting that he's been watching Steve dance, but now he can. "You're not half bad." 

"Not half-bad, huh?" Steve counters with a smirk that says he doesn't believe Tony. Leaning in a little closer, he whispers, "You're going to have to try a lot harder if you want answers with compliments like that." 

"That's not an answer," Tony points out stubbornly, following Steve's lead on the waltz (waltz?) as the song style changes. 

"And that's not the right question," Steve smirks again. "When did I learn to dance, on the other hand..."

That was an answer in itself for how telling it was. "Nineteen forty-something? Thirty-something? It can't be twenty-something, you would have been eleven at best." He pauses. 

"Bucky loved dancing. Bucky loved taking me on double dates that involved dancing. I loved dancing. And I also loved going to clubs all around Brooklyn and finding people to dance with," Steve's face lit up a little at the mention of it, like a man who wished he could go back, and like a man who seemed to be reminiscing past naïveté. "Nineteen thirty-something, yeah." 

"Can you...," Tony pauses dramatically, "Do the Lindy Hop?" 

"Yes," Steve says unashamedly. "And don't you dare even ask, because I'm not doing it." Damn, and just when Steve had been entertaining him and his stupid question this night. Tony wanted to press his luck elsewhere. 

"Modern dance? Are you caught up there?" he asks. "Or is are the worlds of hip-hop and contemporary confusing?" 

"Dance is a great workout," Steve recites, and from where Tony doesn't know. "So yes, I'm trying to catch up. Ballet is something, though. Real hard stuff, and I don't have the exact body type for it. Tap is fine, tap is good. Jazz is fun, unless I mess up. That happens a lot." He makes a face at himself.

And just when Tony can't be anymore surprised by the fact that Steve sometimes does ballet and tap, he says, "But the salsa! Tango! Samba, rumba, jive, bolero, those are all lively!" His excited face changes into one of amusement when he continues on with, "And then someone at the place I go to tried to tell me that I should learn how to belly dance. I'm starting to wonder if everyone thinks that I don't know what I'm doing." 

As he says that, Steve pulls Tony into an elaborate Left Whisk that most people can't even recognize is a waltz step, unless they see it in the context of a waltz. He has to hand it to Steve for making a point boldly. 

"Who are you showing off to?" Tony asks slyly, starting his eyes around to try and see if Steve will blush at the insinuation. "Is there someone you're trying to impress?" 

Steve's eyes darken with a challenge, and the smirk (only this time it knows something, but what?) returns like it never disappeared into a light smile. He glances in the direction of the clock again, but doesn't seem to lay any attention to it as he looks at Tony again. "You're the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, you tell _me_." 

"You're not denying it," Tony observes. "So there is someone. You know, you've been dancing a long time with me. Are you trying to play for jealousy? Doesn't work too often, you know. Especially when you're with me; because then they'll think you're mine for the night." 

"No," Steve says, amused. "I don't quite think they'll mind at all." 

"Can we play 20 questions on who it is, then?" Tony asks, because Steve is indulging him this when he's _never_ done so before. Steve nods, almost seeming to shrug, even though he really can't. "Female or male?" 

"Male." 

"Are they aware of—”

"That I'm gay? Yes," Steve dryly says. 

"It's not Clint, is it?" Tony asks with a sudden growing horror. "Because Clint knows." 

"What? No! No. But yes, I do know that Clint knows. It's hard not for me to know that Clint knows." 

"Why?" 

"I'm counting that, by that way," Steve says, rolling his eyes, "But he knows because he caught me out on a date." 

"You were out on a date? Ooh, Rogers, do tell," Tony teases. 

"I think Thor would have liked him better," Steve says, wrinkling his nose at the memory. "More of a feast and fuck type. I thought it was a causal hookup, and then he brought me to a local restaurant from his apartment, so I was wondering if he wanted to date, but then we went back to his apartment and then I realized it wasn't so... that's five questions by the way." 

"Is this guy wearing black?" 

Steve raises an eyebrow, eyes him with a speculative look, and then answers, "Nope." 

"Is it a unique color he's wearing?" 

"The particular shade of his clothes is a little off from anyone else, but many would say it's a fairly common color," Steve says with a complete straight-face, and then Tony remembers two things. A, Steve has really good serum-enhanced eyes, and B, Steve is also an artist, so he knows what to do with all that sensory information.

"That's bullshit," Tony says, because what else is he going to respond to that? "Can you just give me a straight answer? Come on." 

"No, it's technically not unique to this room."

"Alright, so he doesn't stand out too much, then, in this crowd." Tony realizes that's not a question, so he tacks on, "Right?"

"No, he stands out plenty," Steve grins. "I don't think a lot of people have been able to take their eyes off of him."

_Funny_, Tony thinks, _I could say the same about you_. 

"I think I'll let go of you for now," Steve says as Tony realizes that this song, whatever it is, is winding down. "Come find me if you've got another question. Promise I'll answer." He winks at Tony lavishly, and then they part ways, with Steve going to find a new dance partner, and Tony finding someone new to schmooze. Though really, they're both doing the same thing. "You have eleven questions left."

Tony spends the next few hours doing just that, going around but popping in on Steve whenever both of them have a spare minute. He's never realized how much fun this is, and how much time he spends on Steve's Q&A. The mini stories that come with some of the answers are endearing, or laughable, and he tries to ask questions so he'll get an answer and a story. Unfortunately, he exhausts his questions (though he finds that he wasn't really trying somewhere around Question #14) and Steve merely shakes his head with the mischievous, knowing smirk. 

But at the end of the gala, when all has been said and done, Steve leaves alone, and Tony hasn't really seen him in the company of an unattached man for too long. More so than anyone else, he’s the center of this gala, this world of the famous and influential. 

Oh, Steve is good. 

* * *

Natasha and Clint have a priority as SHIELD agents, and this Tony knows. He has a priority to Stark Industries. Bruce has one to his science. Thor has one to Asgard. They all have day jobs. So what does Steve have? Captain America isn't a day job.

"Caltain America is a day job," Steve says when he comes to pick Tony up from his lab because Tony has apparently spent too many hours in here without real food and sleep. "It's not my priority in the sense that it's yours, but it is a priority and a day job." 

"Then what do you do?" Tony asks, completely puzzled. "And in what sense are you talking about?" 

"It's a priority in the sense that most people don't think Steve when they see me, but Captain America," Steve dryly says, a hint of a fond smirk dancing around his words. "And it's a day job because I spend every other day at SHIELD or some government as Captain America, or out somewhere doing Captain-like things." 

"Captain-y things? What captain-y things?"

"Things like visiting hospitals, talking to kids at schools, raising awareness for things like the VA and other causes. I mean, those are the good parts of the job, but they are part of the job. Just as much as talking to the WSO and worldwide governments on how the Avengers are not a threat. Or on how someone's needs to take responsibility for allowing the Mandarin's influence to spread and the nuke on Manhattan." When Tony stares at Steve like Steve has grown a second head, because wow, what the _fuck_, Steve sighs. "Also because I'm technically a SHIELD agent. Just on undetermined leave." 

"You could have led with that," Tony yawns, blinking at himself. 

"Come on," Steve says. "There's no way you're not sleeping within the next hour." 

"You know what?" Tony frowns, pinching himself and reaching for the nearest coffee cup. 

"Chicken butt," Steve shamelessly quips, before walking in and then unapologetically picking Tony up. All of Tony's attempts to break away go ignored and unsuccessful. Steve doesn't even wince.

"You know, I like manhandling as much as the next kinky person, but if it happens, I really want some sex to go with it," Tony says. 

"Well, we are headed towards your bedroom," Steve says as the elevator doors open and he steps in. "For something that's probably better for you than sex." 

"Blasphemy." 

"What's blasphemous to everyone else is your weird ability to not sleep in days just or the fun of it." 

Tony boos at Steve when the doors open and Steve unceremoniously brings Tony to his bedroom and dumps him there. Not literally, but close enough. 

"You're already tired, and JARVIS won't let you out of your suite or in the reach if anything vaguely interesting until you go to bed."

"Last time you did this was the gala! That was three days ago!" 

"A week ago, Tony. That was a week ago." 

"Oh." A few seconds later, while he's thinking about it, he says, "Goodnight, I guess."

* * *

The Avengers have all been invited to some governor's (senator's?) party that Fury makes them all go to, on pretense of staying on their favorable side. Tony hates it, hates this, hates that he couldn't even put up a fight because Fury had left before he got a word in. Lucky Thor; Thor always seems to miss the boring Avengers PR events. 

But since he isn't Thor and he doesn't have another real choice, he finds himself mingling around and talking to various governors and senators and representatives and lawmakers who he hasn't even heard of before, most of them. Well, then and many influential people, most of whom were at the charity gala. Tony's starting to realize why Fury really sent them all here as the titles all fly through his head. Looking around at Natasha, Steve, and Bruce, he sees that they're all realizing the same thing. 

Tony smiles and says goodbye to the latest couple and then goes to find Steve, who he thinks might make this night less painful.

"Tony," Steve says, a hint of a question lacing his words. 

"I'm bored," Tony says. "Entertain me. Let's do 20 questions again."

Steve laughs. "You lost last time. Eager to do it again?"

"Number One: Is there someone you like at this little shindig?" 

There it is again, the oddly dry look that Steve gives Tony that Tony can't understand. "_Yes_."

"By any chance, the same guy as before?"

"Yes."

"Ooh. Now we're talking, Rogers. Okay, hmm, do you know if this guy has any kind of an interest in you?" 

"Yeah, I know he does." 

"I didn't think you were the type to play chicken, Rogers. If I win, I feel like you should go find this guy.”

Steve's face lights up in a devious gleam as he says, "Oh, I think I will."

"Brunette, blond, redhead, noirette, what?"

"Brunette."

"Tall?"

"I think he's the average height for a guy."

"You're basically describing Clint."

"Why are you bringing up Clint again? He's not... no, just no."

Tony looks around as discretely as he can and finds that no one meets the criteria that he already knows of. "Are you sure that you're not lying to me? Because there's no one here that I can see." 

"Are you sure you aren't deliberately fucking with me? Because I refuse to believe you've thought of everyone and come up blank."

"Well, the only two people left I can't really see are you and me, and it can't be you, and it can't be—”

He stops. Flounders. Stares. It can’t be. Can it? 

"Now that you've figured it out," he hears Steve saying with a wink, "Come find me after this."

So he does. 

* * *

Tony wakes up in his bed, alone and just a little sore. 

"Hey J, where's Steve?"

"Captain Rogers is currently in Washington D.C. for SHIELD. His new assignment there begins today."

He never sees the note fallen onto the floor, written in flowing blue cursive explaining to him that Steve has to go, but that he will drop by as soon as he can to talk if Tony doesn't want a phone call. 

He never remembers that Steve had told him before that last night was going to be his last in NYC.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Or come stop by on my [tumblr](https://butonlyifyourecounting.tumblr.com/)!


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